Crazy Rich Illéans
by a singular dream
Summary: "Rich, spoilt, rotten, proud." For the children of the Illéan elite, money, fame and power is everything. Gemma Maeve Schreave returns home, ready to inherit her empire, but is faced with a condition: she has to settle down to inherit. She sets out to find a boyfriend to prove herself, but things never go well, when love, money and power are involved...
1. The Cast

**THE CAST**

* * *

**GEMMA MAEVE SCHREAVE.** _Protagonist_. _Schreave Real Estate heiress. 24 years old._  
Dubbed 'Crown princess of Illéa', Maeve is the heiress to the Schreave empire, and until the beginning of Summer, nobody really knew where she was. Going by the Schreaves, she's alive and well, but even her closest childhood friends haven't seen her in more than a decade. However, rumour claims, she's back in Illéa, and here to settle down. She went by Gemma when she last lived in Illéa.

**DAPHNE DAULTON-SCHREAVE**. _Maeve's mother. Schreave Real Estate COO. 53 years old._  
Daphne Daulton-Schreave has been in de facto charge of the Schreave empire for many years, despite a disability that renders her body almost entirely useless. Daphne is a person close to only few, and even closest friends to the Schreave family consider her some kind of outsider. Daphne grew up in Hong Kong, with her father being Illéan and her mother being Hong Kongnese, and only lived in Illéa from high school onwards. Daphne is Rebecca's daughter-in-law.

**ELIZABETH REBECCA SUYI SCHREAVE**. _Maeve's grandmother. Schreave Real Estate CEO. 88 years old._  
The head and matriarch of the Schreave family is one of the oldest players among the Illéan elite. Known for rising above unfortunate circumstances and bringing her family's wealth back from ruin, she is a household name among the world's wealthy. She chairs the Rose Cotillion Committee. Respected and admired by many, Rebecca's name alone commands respect, but going by certain sources, she has been spending a little bit too much in hospitals recently. The return of her granddaughter is mysterious too...

**NOAH JULIAN SCHREAVE**. _Maeve's cousin. Surf club trainer. 24 years old._  
Noah has been the only young Schreave present in Illéa for a long time, and rumours about Maeve's whereabouts made many speculate that Rebecca would name him, or his father, heir over Maeve. However, Noah himself is known to be a friend and companion of many, lover of the beach and carefree spirit that just doesn't fit into the cold, micro-managed business world.

**JULIAN CHARLES SCHREAVE**. _Maeve's paternal uncle. Entrepreneur. 55 years old._  
Julian is known for his many business ideas, of which some succeeded and some failed. His strongest product has been a grocery store chain, named Charles', which sometimes is a recurring joke; a Schreave is known for a grocery store chain, which really doesn't fit a high profile family such as the Schreaves.

**MARY SCHREAVE**. _Maeve's aunt. Socialite. 55 years old.  
_Julian's wife and a socialite of Illéa. She's quite well known, friends with many but is known for her distance to Daphne. She's a lady of status and engaged in the social season. Mary is likely to be found at tea parties, high society events, and fashion shows. She's a dedicated mother and always making sure that Noah is happy. She's closely related to a member of the British House of Lords, and Chinese politics.

* * *

**ALESSIA 'SIA' FLORENCE DE ROSSI.** _Selected. Journalism student & LaTV intern. 23 years old._  
An overachiever that came from Italy over Oxford to Illéa. Although Sia is a soft soul and kind, she knows what she wants and how to get it. Ambitious and a great leader, she is the daughter of an influential Italian politician and connected to Europe's best wine, the de Rossi wine.

**ESPERANZA 'MARIPOSA' MIREIA CEVALLOS.** _Selected. Makeup artist. 27 years old._  
While Mariposa may not be the wealthiest member of the group chat, she is most certainly the most active; she's the group's beloved social butterfly, and known for her beautiful makeup art. She comes from a family of artists, is always up and going, and is Juan's only friend.

**CALLIOPE 'POPPY' ELIZABETH ASTOR**. _Selected. Influencer & entrepreneur. 24 years old.  
_Known for her easy-to-follow tutorials and genuine social media portrayal of her life, Poppy isn't just the daughter of a Silicon Valley leader but also successful in her own right. A sweet young woman, Poppy always makes sure that the people around her are doing well. Poppy grew up in England, which is where she knows Perci Santos from. One look on her profile shows her life mixing fashion, style and trends with a geekier side of her life.

**CASSIOPEIA 'CASSIA' MARIE EARL.**_ Selected. Surgeon-in-training. 25 years old. _  
Cassia is the daughter of the founders of the space exploration-focused Andromeda Project. After her parents' divorce about eight years ago, she moved to Spain with her father. While she was known to be rather shy back in her days in Illéa, nowadays, she has broken out of that shell and is a promising surgeon-to-be. Almost two years after finishing as valedictorian of her year at university, Cassia has returned to Illéa for unknown reasons...

**KENNA 'KENZIE' EUN-YEONG CHOI.** _Selected. Hotel heiress & theatre freelancer. 26 years old._  
Kenzie is a sweetheart who's been staying away from Illéa's upper class, with an exception of her best friend, Noah. Only recently, after unfortunate circumstances, she returned to the upper class, and that has been quite a bumpy ride. She's found of her red bike, threatre and the beach.

**MARINA 'RINA' ABIGAIL KLYDEWORTH.** _Selected. Socialite & singer-to-be. 24 years old._  
Rina isn't only a rising star in the Illéan and international music scene thanks to her family's music empire, but also fashion icon and socialite, always around when things go wild. She's up-to-date with Illéan gossip, a queen of flirting and known to find herself in a notoriously short celebrity relationship. Rina is very well known to be in an on-off relationship with LaTV heir Alex Langston.

**ORIANNA 'ORI' VANILLA VASILIEVA.** _Selected. Instagram personality & businesswoman. 25 years old._  
Orianna is a literal barbie girl. Although most people perceive her as 'all body, no brain', she is actually a promising businesswoman and currently looking into what she wants to do. A socialite, she is best friends with Kenzie Choi, found of photography and fashion, and Russian on her father's side.

**TITUS 'ALEX' ALEXANDER LANGSTON.** _Selected. LaTV Media Network Heir. 24 years old.  
_Known to be Illéa's playboy, Alex probably has slept with half of the female upper-class population of the city. Drunk 24/7 and best friends with Griff Vael (whose shipping has developed a bit of a fanbase), he enjoys being extra, dramatic and always needs to have the last word.

**ANGEL CASSIDY.**_ Selected. ballerina. 23 years old._  
Once the centre of all the gossip, thanks to his infamous relationship with model Harry Guyer, Angel is actually a kind ballet dancer whose entry to the world of crazy rich Illéans was his father's outstanding fortune. Known as _Mr Luck_, James Cassidy won the lottery and invested into the right companies to rise to good wealth. Now, Angel keeps to himself, to avoid his girlfriend's angry fans and adorers. He's a kind dad, though.

**GRIFFIN 'GRIFF' LYSANDER VAEL.** _Selected. The Goldfinger nightclub owner. 23 years old._  
Always angry, the black sheep of the Vael family, owners of the technology cooperation Elysian Tech International is known to get into fights all the time. He's known to be quite a stereotypical bad boy (which he opposes) and is Alex Langston's best friend and frequently shipped with him, much to his dismay.

**NATHANIEL 'NATE' REMINGTON MONTGOMERY-ROMILLY.** _Selected. Fashion journalist & critic. 23 years old._  
Even though Nate comes from a shipping magnate family, Nate himself focuses much more on other things. A fashion critic he may be, but he avoids the front of the camera like fire; his mother's reality tv star life has made him quite wary of the constant presence. An old friend of Gemma, he understands how it is to be haunted by fans and haters.

**JUAN-PABLO SANTIAGO.** _Selected. A-List Actor. 27 years old._  
Juan is a famous and esteemed actor that is known for his fashion style, his love for fast cars and beauty. Although he isn't that close to the others, he's close to his younger sister and family. His parents, also actors, brought him into the business, and he has risen to be considered among the best of Illéa. Juan does have a little issue with a lack of friends though.

**PERCIVAL 'PERCI' HUGO SANTOS.** _Selected. Grail Casinos Chain CEO. 24 years old.  
_Perci has turned an elementary school gambling ring into a world-wide casino chain. Known to be flirty and cheerful, he's all too known among the ladies of the wealthy world, although he disappears awfully soon when things get hot... God knows what that might lead to.

* * *

**ANNA LEE.** _Supporting character. Executive assistant at Schreave Real Estate. 30 years old._  
Anna has only been Daphne's for a few years, but she's her favourite. Driven, determinant and giving in to nobody, she's also become an honorary older sister to Maeve, whom she is to help returning to society.

**CARMEN GUYER.** _Supporting character. Angel's son. 5 years old._  
Angel's and Harry's son, who is quite interested in science, but not in his parents' beloved art.

**ESTELLE MUN.** _Supporting character. Host of The Love Report. Age unknown._  
Estelle is the host of The Love Report, a radio show that predominantly features her giving love and romance advice to callers and listeners. Estelle is also a common guest in gossip shows concerning Illéa's elite though; many suspect that she might be wealthy herself, or a Kardashian.

**GABRIELLA 'GABBY' ISABELLA SANTIAGO.** _Supporting character. Model & philanthropist. 19 years old_  
A famous, beautiful model and Juan Santiago's sister. Gabby is known for her strong philanthropy work dedicated to helping deaf and mute children, as she's such as as well. She's happy, outgoing and quite liked.

**HARRY GUYER.** _Supporting character. Instagram influencer & model. 24 years old._  
A beautiful model and former ballerina. Harry rose to the centre of gossip when she revealed her relationship with ballet school friend Angel Cassidy, and the fact that she was pregnant with their first child. Many of her fans were angered by these news, but they have forgiven her at least. Now, there's nothing wrong in paradise, is there?

**JIWOON 'JARED' KIM.** _Supporting character. Surf club employee. 26 years old.  
_Jared is a 'peasant', as Maeve called him. His English is a noticeable mix of Illéan English, Cantonese and Korean accent, leading to Maeve's assumption that he might be an exchange student.

**MARISOL SANTOS.** _Supporting character. Unknown. 25 years old._  
Perci's sister, with an infamous fondness of of Vaelston and other ships that probably are the reason why she was thrown out of the group chat.

**ROSALIND MARIE ASTOR.**_ Supporting character. Student/Andromeda Project intern. 17 years old.  
_Poppy's shyer, younger sister. Her father's little darling and sweetheart. Would do anything for him, but couldn't say what makes her better than her sister in his eyes. Quiet and peaceful.

**SIMEON ADLER.** _Supporting character. Law student and model. 23 years old. _  
Sia's overprotective brother who, just like his sister, is an overachiever, but unlike her quite aloof and distant, stoic and snarky. Chances are that one of his reasons to come to Illéa is not only studying but also to ward off the boys interested in his sister.

**VIENNA VAN WELL.** _Supporting character_. _Children's book author & philanthropist. 25 years old.  
_Vienna van Well is the daughter of Illéa's current prime minister. She's engaged in philanthropy and close with many of the upper-class children, but also a dedicated children's book author and dedicated to children. She's quite down to earth, friendly and a family person. She used to date Noah Schreave, until they broke up one month ago. She loves ballet.


	2. Rich Kid Problems

** CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**

**I**

_Rich Kid Problems_

* * *

The water is ice cold.

Gemma Maeve Schreave turns off the shower. The water has to be cold because jet lag is a demon that will never leave her alone. That doesn't mean she likes, or wants, it. She doesn't want anything else _but_ to return to her white, comfy bed sheets, but life being life, she can't. Duh—even if she wants to spend the rest of her life in it. The sun stands high above the skyline of Illéa, and she can hear the road rushing metres beneath her penthouse. The city is awake, and so should she be if she wants to get over the jet lag. She knows that from experience. Maeve steps to the window, putting a hand on the glass and watches the plane that crosses the sky of her home town.

_Illéa_. Her home town. What a strange description—let alone because it's an island, a city and a state, not a town. It doesn't feel like home. Hours earlier, she had been ignoring that fact by napping in a private plane, and in a limousine driving back to an apartment worth more than the income in your average peasant's life. _Napping_. What a great idea. She sighs and presses her forehead against the cool window. She closes her eyes, dozes off for a moment, before turning around.

The penthouse she lives in is beautiful, has a comfortable carpet, high-quality furniture and is in a top location. Is it her home? No. She's not been here in ages. "_A golden cage is just a cage_," she remembers; a Pinterest pin she found when waiting in line for customs. Ridiculous; her family donated two million for the airport when it was built, five years ago. _She_ should have had priority.

But now she's back. In Illéa. There's no need to care—the golden cage is pretty and she owns it. Already though, she yearns for the birds to fly in the sky of the artificial island. Maeve opens the window, lets the breeze in. Where is the ocean breeze? She sighs. The apartment—penthouse—is too far up. It's closer to the planes taking off on the other side of the city. Her phone rings.

"Gemma Maeve Schreave, speaking," she responds. It's mom. _Mom calling is always nice_. It was bittersweet to see her the day before—strong, beautiful, as always, but tired. And disappointed.

About what? Her coming back home? That's what she wants, isn't it?

"Hey love," Daphne Daulton-Schreave replies with that soft voice that Maeve loves to hear, no matter what time of the day it is. "Up already?" she teases. It's two o'clock.

"Yeah," Maeve laughs and looks down with a dreamy smile. Mom. Home. Sweet childhood memories. She presses the phone between her shoulder and ear, turns away from the window and enters her walk-in closet. The velvet bathing robe is soft and comfy, but she needs to put on clothes if she wants to go and see her mother.

"How's the jet lag going?"

"I'm alive," Maeve dodges.

"That's nice. Now, listen, love," Daphne begins, this time serious. Maeve knows that voice. "I know that you just came back yesterday evening and are tired, but can you do me a favour? Come by the office? I need to talk to you, in person."

"About grandma?" Maeve wonders. She's always been blunter than her mother.

"Yes," Daphne replies, sad. Terminal illnesses are a nightmare, but what can you do? The one thing money cannot buy is eternal youth, not yet, at least. Maybe gene-editing will be developed far enough someday, but not today. She's looked into it. Maeve likes her grandma.

"I'll come around after brunch. Might take a detour though. I haven't been home for ages. I want to see what changed."

"Grab a coffee and come, please," Daphne's voice is still sad, but it's a different sad; almost disappointed, but hasn't she gotten over _that_ by now? Maeve can't place the tone. "I know, love," Daphne adds on, affectionate as always.

"See you later then," Maeve ends, not wanting to embark into _that_ discussion again. She still thinks it's her mother's fault, but there's no point in discussing the past. She's in Illéa now, and that's the only thing that matters.

"I love you," her mother says.

"Love you too, mom."

The call ends, but Maeve can't shrug off the feeling that Daphne kept quiet about something. She glances at her phone, unable to place what exactly it is. Probably related to grandma. Is her condition worse than expected? Sudden problems? Is her uncle throwing a fit again? Likely enough. Assuming that's the issue, she can shrug it off. Maeve knows her uncle, can't stand him, or her aunt. God knows what Noah is up to. She hasn't seen him in ages, except on social media. Going by that, he's surfing right now. So that's not an issue. _An acceptable situation_, she thinks, and picks out an outfit.

Changing, hair and make-up later, she stands many floors beneath, waiting for the valet to bring her motorbike by. With a black helmet and sunglasses, she finds herself on the road only minutes later. She could have gone for one of the Lamborghinis, or one of the Ferraris, but she's in the mood for her Harley, fresh transported from across the ocean.

Maeve turns left, southwards. The office building in the opposite direction than she's heading, but the ocean and the ocean breeze are calling for her, even if it's just for a brief stop. With EarPods (Maeve has lost count how many she lost by now, but it's just two hundred USD per pair, so who counts—even peasants can afford that) in her ears, she only stops when her stomach complains about the lack of breakfast. She eyes a Starbucks, stops outside the dark green logo, locks the bike and grabs her bag. Maeve ignores some random dude catcalling her. Her nails alone cost more than his whole life, she tells herself. She's worth more—she's a Schreave. The Schreave heiress. She is Gemma Maeve Schreave, and no one else. She has to be.

"Vanilla Iced Latte Macchiato, please, venti," she orders, after waiting for a moment.

"Name?"

"Maeve Schreave_." _

"Five dollars fifty." Right, Illéan dollars. Not pounds or euros or anything she's used to. Does it matter? No.

Maeve readies her card, pays and waits. The store isn't busy anymore, but she doesn't intend to stay for more than a short photo for her story. _Gotta show who's back in town_, she tells herself. A latte isn't exactly all she intends to eat for breakfast, but knowing mom, she'll make _something_ happen. She looks to the ocean, and the beautiful beach. The last time she was around, there had been a gigantic development site. Maybe she could go and swim again? Noah's into this now, isn't he?

"Mayf Sleeve..?" Well, that's a new one?

Maeve raises her hand. "That'd be me." She grabs the cup. She sits down at one of these empty seats, takes out her phone and takes a photo. She posts it onto her story, without a particular caption, because that's what you do, isn't it? She can put more effort into it later, when there are Illéans following her account. She doesn't feel like chatting with her friends abroad.

"Is that seat taken?" She looks up to find a young man with a (smaller) cup of coffee in his hand. A tourist? His English sounds Illéan, but she hears Hong Kong school English in there. Some Korean too. Details. Maybe he's just a student having a nice day, Maeve concludes. Maybe an exchange student, maybe not. Does it matter? No.

"It isn't, but, like, feel free to sit down," she replies. Not that a hot summer flirt is on top of her priority list, but no need to be hostile, huh? "So, I'm Maeve, you?"

"Jiwoon Kim—but call me Jared," he replies. So Korean. Exchange student or so, definitely. "You aren't from around? Tourist? Exchange student?"

Maeve laughs. She really must have taken up a different accent over the past—she decides to make sure she won't anymore. _Can't be a stranger when I own half of Illéa._

"Let me guess," He tries, "America? California? I've been to LA. It's pretty."

Maeve sips on her latte. She decides to play hard to get, shakes her head. "Nope." She pops the p, sips her latte. It's good; better than at the airport.

Jared fakes a groan. "Oh, come on! America? In general?"

"That's a big vague, don't you think?" Maeve teases.

"West coast?"

"Nope."

"East coast?"

"Nope."

"Canada?"

"That's _totally_ part of America."

"I meant the States," Jared groans. "Come on, tell me. I look like an idiot."

Maeve gives him a pitying look. "Poor Jared," she teases. "Well, I _am_ from Illéa. Just haven't been around for a while. What about you?"

"Korean, moved to Hong Kong, now here. My step-dad is Illéan, I was curious."

"What do you like to do?"

"Oh, surfing, clubbing, working, whatever I can," he replies. Probably trying to flex with his looks, Maeve assumes. He's an Eight at best. She's seen enough surfer boys. One of them being her cousin, and that's one more than she needs.

"Clubbing?" she replies, pretending to hold up the interest. Jared's okay and all, but nothing she can't get in better. Arrogant, she assumes, but she _is_ Maeve Schreave.

"There are some good clubs around here. _Vertigo_'s my favourite," he replies. Maeve has heard of _Vertigo_, but it's only second best to the private clubs of Illéa; the best for the commoners, but Maeve's no such commoner. "I once sneaked into _The Goldfinger_. Owned by Vaelston. That's where the rich kids hang out, you know," he tells condescending, "hang out, but you don't get in there without contacts. Nearly was arrested for trespassing. Well, I was. A girl bailed me out because _I looked pretty_… I still wonder if Estelle was in there."

"Who?"

"Estelle Mun, you know?"

Estelle who? A local celebrity? Is that someone she needs to bother with? No, she decides, she doesn't. If Estelle is important, she'll be introduced to her. Maeve smirks. Good to know that things still work the same at home. "Ah. Fun," she comments absentminded.

"Huh?"

She sips her latte again and decides that she's bored by Jared. Pretty boy, nothing more. He wouldn't know either way how it is to be _Gemma Maeve Schreave_. She rises, grabs her helmet and her phone. She could leave him alone without a word, but she isn't _that_ mean. "I gotta go," she replies, pretending to be apologetic and taking a final sip of her latte. It's alright, she decides, but not worth finishing.

"What's your social media handle?" Jared asks, friendly and cool; he would probably be a good guy, but he's not made for Maeve. "Wanna grab a coffee again, maybe? I can show you around." _Wrong order of questions_, she thinks, _and he didn't listen_. She knows Illéa, and she has a phone—like any decent person.

"_gemmaeve,_" Maeve says, typing it into his phone because apparently, nobody can type her middle name. She's being more careful about her black-white nails than the phone screen. The phone's an edition old and the screen is cracked, she notes. Definitely a student, probably careless.

"Cool, I'll—" He stops mid-sentence, surprised, and Maeve knows why, but she's also already walking off. Probably that selfie in front of the private plane—it's her latest post. Maeve smiles, proud. She's one of the rich kids. She's part of the billionaire kids club, she lives in the golden cage—a rich bitch. Rich, spoilt, rotten, proud. She's one of them.

That thought feels foreign, but it's the truth.

The bird that flies away, in a jumbo jet.

While her bike isn't a jumbo jet, it's fast enough to let her blast over the water front's small street, turn around the big shopping centre and head to the Schreave Real Estate headquarters. It's large, chic, expensive and dedicated to running the world-spanning empire that her family build over generations. It's pretty too. She stops outside the gates, next to the mini waterfalls that are illuminated in rainbow colours at night. They look pretty, but the last time Maeve saw them, she had been seventeen and the building had just been finished. It's been a while. There's a valet, so of course, Maeve takes the key and her helmet and pushes them into his hands. "Don't park it in the sunshine. It's not good for the coating," she claims. As if it'd matter anyhow. She can always get a new Harley.

The valet steps back, avoiding her. "Sorry, miss, but you can't just park here. This is—"

"Yes, I can," Maeve replies, and walks inside. Nobody gave her an ID card (you need them, she believes) but what can they do? She practically owns this building. It's just one signature and her grandma away.

However, because Maeve is nice (and forgot where her mother's office is), she stops at the reception. To be fair, a black leather jacket and leggings probably don't make the impression of 'this place practically belongs to me', but Maeve isn't planning to do a business deal; she's here to see her mother, and Daphne will coupe if she wears leather jackets.

"Hello there, what can I do for you?" The receptionist smiles like she is seventeen years old and a school kid.

Maeve doesn't. "I'm here to see my mother," she replies professional.

"What's her name? What department is she in? I just need to check if—"

"Daphne Daulton-Schreave," Maeve deadpans. People _always_ tell her that she looks like her mother. Besides the age difference, they could be sisters. She knows that now too, they look similar, even if she's wearing a leather jacket. The valet maybe didn't catch her face, only the ponytail, but now? The receptionist? Has she never seen her boss?

"Of course, yes, just a moment." At least, Maeve wants to give her points for not freaking out. The last time she came by the office building, three years ago, that had been the reaction, but back then, her hair had been platinum blonde, so that didn't count.

Had she been gone for _that_ long?

Maeve wants to doubt it. She really wants to, a lot.

The receptionist makes a call, asking if 'Miss Daulton is expecting a visitor... yes, her daughter'. It ends seconds after she finishes her last word. "Miss Lee will come down to meet you," the receptionist explains, and Maeve nods. That's good news. She likes Anna, her mother's private assistant. She's pretty, nice, efficient, and one of the coolest women she ever met. She was the one to recommend her hairstyle, after all.

Anna walks into the entrance hall when the express elevator stops, on heels, professional and all. Accompanied by her handbag and sunglasses that she always wears (no matter the weather, or the location) she could be the COO and not just her assistant. Maeve waves, and once she's close enough, Anna opens her arms to embrace her honorary little sister. Maeve returns the hug.

"I haven't seen you in ages!" she exclaims over-excited. "How have you been? How's the jet lag?"

Maeve laughs. "Terrible, but I had a coffee," she replies. "And, you picked me up at the airport, yesterday."

"Yes!" Anna agrees. "Too much time in-between! How long has it been? More than twelve hours, that's half a day!"

Maeve rolls her eyes, laughs, and strolls beside her friend. They walk back to the express elevator, ignoring the looks of the other people in the lobby. The black-golden elevator doors open, and their heels move from marble to shiny metal. At least it's not a mirror. _That_ design plan had been thrown out by Anna before it even reached any of the Schreaves. Fortunately. Maeve smiles as the elevator rushes up to one of the top floors, past all the people working here. Seconds later, the elevator pings when they reach the third-to-top floor, and Maeve smiles. The executive floor; this is where all decisions are made. Maeve follows Anna to her mother's office, trusting her to know her way around better than she does.

"Hi mom," she calls out when she sees Daphne Daulton-Schreave turns around in her wheelchair, with the same tired smile from yesterday evening on her face.

Daphne gives Anna a thankful nod. "That's all," she tells her. Anna gets the message, she leaves. Daphne ignores her daughter, for the moment.

Maeve moves her weight to her left leg, almost nervous. "You sounded serious on the phone. Is grandma getting worse?"

"Honey, Gemma," Daphne begins, "she will die at the end of this road. Of course, she is getting worse."

"I mean, is it accelerating? Like, is that why you wanted to meet me here so quickly? You really sounded off, mom. I'm worried." She really is, because that too is Maeve Schreave. She's the rich bitch with a big heart for those she cares for, she likes to think.

"I wouldn't be aware of it, love," she replies.

"Then, what's up?"

"Have you eaten today?" Daphne places her hands on her lap, onto her legs that won't move.

"Not unless you count coffee, but—grandma. What's with her?"

"She's alright," Daphne insists, but Maeve can't believe that. She hits a button on the phone, the connection to Anna's desk. "Anna, dear, can you organise us a late lunch? Thank you."

Maeve's stomach grumbles in agreement. She deadpans. "You wouldn't have made me come here, jetlagged and all. Can we go and see her?"

Daphne shakes her head. "She is at the hospital this week. Maybe next week or so; I'm in contact with Rebecca."

"Why—" Maeve stops_. What is she talking about?_ "Mum, just to check—you sounded serious. If nothing happened with grandma, what's up then? Is it—?"

"Your grandmother has made…" Daphne looks down onto her lap. "She's finished her will a few days before you arrived. As of now, only the family knows—Julian, Noah, Mary and me. I'll have Anna forward you the documentation."

"Is Julian getting everything, or what's happening?"

Julian can't get everything; he and Mary are _terrible_! Even her grandmother agrees with that, and Julian is her younger son. He has no idea of how to run a real estate empire; he's never been involved with the Schreave business! Sure—Maeve hasn't either, but she's young, has the right degree and her mother knows that stuff. She'll be fine.

"No, he is not, but he's rather close."

"How is he not getting it, but is rather close?"

Daphne sighs, and takes a moment to respond._ Gosh, it must be easy if you're not a Schreave_. She's got it easy, Maeve believes.

"You will only inherit if you, and I quote her, 'settle down'."

"… What?" _Settle down? What in the world does she mean with that?_ "As in, what? How do I prove that?"

"In any way possible," Daphne replies. "You know your grandmother—she just wants to know that you won't be in Canada next week."

Maeve cringes. "But I have friends in—"

"She wants to know that you'll stay here and learn to take care of the family business."

"So if I do that, I settle down and she's happy?"

Daphne tilts her head. "I wouldn't be so sure. Why don't you start with reconnecting with your friends here? See how it goes?"

"And…?"

Daphne shrugs, and gives her daughter her best smile. "Rebecca just…I know how you'll feel about this, but she genuinely believes that if you were to get a boyfriend, you'd stay and therefore wants that."

"… So, settle down as in 'marry and buy a house'. Do you mean that?"

"To be fair, the family owns enough houses…?" Daphne's smile grows more and more forced. Terrible.

"… Mum, I'm twenty-four. I won't meet the next guy I meet. I'd want to date someone _for years_ before I actually marry."

"That's absolutely fine with me," Daphne insists. For the COO of Schreave Real Estate, she is terrible a convincing people.

"Rebecca has barely a year to live."

"… You just need to convince her, honey." Daphne leans forward. "Gemma, I really want you to stay too, though. What do you want to do abroad? Why don't you stay in Illéa for a while? Isn't it almost abroad by now?"

"You know why I don't want to stay here."

"Honey, that was twelve years ago."

"And who doesn't say that it won't happen again?"

"He lives abroad—if he was in Illéa, we'd know. Your grandmother has organised everything for that. I'd know. You'd know. She'd know. Julian too—you know he's invested into this too. It's been years, and we haven't heard from him. Why are you still worried?"

Maeve deadpans. "Last time I checked, it was the reason you sent me to the USA."

"For a year. It was your decision to stay abroad—I wanted you back."

She draws in air. A difficult topic. "Mum, I don't want to marry some stranger, and nor do I want to follow such a ridiculous demand."

"And nobody wants you to, darling. We just want you to come back and develop a life here again. Is that so difficult? It'd be the same as you did when going to Paris," her mother begs. "At least try—you can always discuss with your grandmother later."

She crosses her arms. "… Alright," she decides to say. She can grace the city with her presence once more—for a while at least. "Alright. How do you want me to start? Do you want me to go and sleep with Noah's best friend?"

Daphne cringes. "Kenna is a nice person, but... I'd prefer you just, maybe, asking him if you can come by to his birthday party. Then there's the social season starting soon—I know you've been to the Ball in New York and all, but you've never been around for such balls in Illéa."

"Let's start with Noah," Maeve decides, "but yes—balls. Of course. I'll look at dresses. I still have some time until the Rose Cotillion, don't I?" It's late November. She does. She knows. When Maeve was ten years old, the Rose Cotillion had been her dream. Of course, she knows it. "Deal, I'll get it done."

"Just… honey, do remember that Illéan society is quite gate-keeping."

Maeve shrugs. "I'm Gemma Schreave—what's the issue? I _am_ society."

* * *

**Chapter Recap:**

Gemma Maeve Schreave, heiress to the largest real estate empire on the planet, returns home and meets her mother, Daphne Daulton-Schreave, to discuss her dying grandmother. On the way, she meets a 'commoner', as she calls him, Jiwoon 'Jared' Kim, who reignites Maeve's consciousness about who she is, and how long she's been away. At the Schreave Real Estate headquarters, she meets her mother's assistant, Anna Lee, who is like a big sister to her, and her mother. They discuss her grandmother's state, and her conditions for Maeve to inherit. Although taken aback by the condition, Maeve agrees and begins planning on how to get back into society and prove that she will 'settle down'.

**Next Chapter Teaser:** Valley Girl!Maeve

* * *

**Welcome to _Crazy Rich Illéans_!**

**Most important: if you started the form before, go re-read the form and rules because chances are they changed. I gave a few friends the form beforehand, but if anyone of you guys (i.e. Moon) already submitted the full form, I will come back to you and point out what I still need from you. I'll get around to that in the next days (hopefully...). **

**I did not mean to post this story until I had reached the Elite in _Fallout_, but because my friends on the discord (discord . gg / pjY8GE7, come join us we're fun) were so ridiculously eager, I'm opening the submissions and will start writing the story seriously in December/January. You can find the corresponding Pinterest board on my profile /millynalava. It's called FF - Crazy Rich Illéans.**

**This is a story about a bunch of rich kids, socialites, celebrities, and what not, centering around Gemma Maeve Schreave, the heiress of the Schreave empire, who hasn't been around. Her return shakes up the social structures of the kids of the elite; especially when the rumour that she is to 'settle down' sparks. The chance to develop a 'close connection' to the Schreaves is of profit for anyone. The story's quite light-hearted and driven by first world problems etc.**

**There's no 'strict' Selection event, but once we get started, you'll find the general outline of dates, events and similar in it. Another driving factor will be the Illéan social season in the beginning of the plot and other smaller events. A majority of the plot will be driven by character's plots etc., so the more developed your character is, the more likely for them to have an arc on their own. It's set in our world (ish) and not the canon; Illéa here is a city-state similar to Singapore. The story is not set in the Selection universe but in the real world and 21st century. More to that and the cast on my profile.**

**Let me know what you think of Maeve!**

**See you on the other side!**

**Millyna**


	3. I want Disneyland

**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**

**II**

_I want Disneyland_

* * *

The sun is moving towards the horizon. Not that Gemma Maeve Schreave is bothered; there's a heater on the rooftop terrace of an Italian restaurant for when the night's cold sets in. She doesn't expect it; that's why her jacket is idly waiting with her Harley three floors below, but it's good to know. The final rays of sunlight on her face are soft, warm and remind her of her mother's embrace when she was young. Maeve closes her eyes, decides to ignore what is going on in her life and enjoy the moment. Soft, almost bubbly on her skin, are those golden rays, but the cold sets in, like the truth of her situation. Settle down, if you want to inherit. She places down the glass of _de Rossi Sorriso_ wine. The best the house could recommend. It's good; Maeve likes the brand. She's had it before, on her trips to Italy. The restaurant is a recommendation from Anna; apparently, it's a fancy place frequented by politicians and the top businessmen. She had to make a call and drop the Schreave name, so it can't be that bad. It isn't either, but she's then again, she _is_ drinking Starbucks bubble tea as well…

Officially, her afternoon is free. Unofficially, she is to look into this 'settling down' business. A text from Anna arrived earlier, asking her to meet up later to go through the paperwork of the will, but that's it. That's tomorrow. She did take out her phone to deal with the 'settling down' business, but rather than taking care of _that_, she catches up with friends.

As in, friends in America, Hong Kong, Spain, Paris and, well, everywhere but Illéa. She doesn't even remember the faces of her childhood friends…

Going by her Instagram feed, an old friend from California will debut with her first album soon—financed by a dad that doesn't even make a million dollars a year. She doubts it'll do well, but she likes the Instagram post because they're friends. She sips her bubble tea. Maeve doesn't know if she prefers it over the wine.

She considers telling those friends abroad about the whole 'setting down' business, but no—she can't. If _that_ tea spills to Illéa, it'll be bad for the family name. Most of her friends abroad only know her as Maeve Daulton, not Gemma Schreave, but particularly in the States, there _are_ people who know her real name from the International Debutante Ball…

She closes a friend's Instagram profile. It's not worth it. Checking up on a bunch of kids in Manhattan won't get her a boyfriend for her grandmother.

"I wonder what's hot in Illéa," she asks herself and starts going through the local trends. Two Instagram users being shipped again, she notices. One of them stole the other's house keys. Griff Vael and Alex Langston. Both names ring a bell, but she can't place them.

Why ever _that_ is trending. There's better content to do that. More important content. Like her.

Maeve continues to scroll. Besides that, she finds one particular Instagram account, currently bombed with questions whenever she is a Kardashian. It's a radio show's host—_The Love Report_'s Estelle Mun. The show is about advice on love.

"Love advice," Maeve mutters to herself. "Why not?" She clicks on the Wikipedia-supplied link to their website. Calling isn't difficult; the radio is in session right now, and she's not beyond asking other people for their opinion. That—and maybe this Estelle has an idea.

A lovely assistant asks her to hold a moment. Maeve is about to speak up and remind of who she is, before she remembers that no—she's anonymous. She's not planning to tell them who she is. She won't.

There are three beeps when she's forwarded to the radio host. "Hello, and welcome to _The Love Report_! This is Estelle Mun, you're live on air, and I'm happy to help! Wanna introduce yourself to our audience?" Estelle's voice is bright, cheerful and energetic. Maeve can't help a smile.

_Well, rest in peace, Maeve_, she thinks though. She can't exactly go with 'Hi, this is Maeve Schreave and I gotta get a boy to get my inheritance', can she? No—she ruled that.

Maeve glares at the smartphone in her head. She should have gone with asking her friends back in California—but now she's up to this and won't stop. Maybe an alias—like she did in California? She can't go with Gemma or Maeve—both too unique and people could catch on it if they were to find her social media past…

"Hi!" she begins in her best valley girl accent, "so, my name is, like, America Singer, and I kind of, like, need your help!" Cringy, but Gemma Maeve Schreave isn't cringy, so nobody will make the connection. _Obviously_.

"Oh, sweetie, nice to meet you! Where are you from? What's up?"

"So, I'm, like, from Cali, and my mum insists on me marrying a guy when I just got back home, and that's so making me wanna barf out! Like—oh my Gosh!" Maeve cringes at herself. Gosh—had she ever talked like this? Hopefully not.

"What?" Estelle is surprised. "Isn't that _super_ illegal? Or at least immoral? Something like that? It's not the 18th century anymore…"

Maeve shrugs. She knows enough cases that disprove that statement. "Y'know, so, here's the tea. My fam is being so un-fam, like, and threatening to cut me off, which totally sucks. Though if I, like, find a nice enough guy to, like, parade me around town and bring him home, they'll probs get off my back. They're, like, really adamant in getting someone for me to, like, 'settle down' with, and probs marry. Like, how would I go about doing that?"

"That sounds like the plot of a drama—I'm so sorry," Estelle replies.

"Yeah, it totally does!"

"Then, you just need a boyfriend to play along?"

"So—like—he totally needs to have status. I work in a way up position at a large company—I can't date just anyone!"

"Alright, I see." Estelle pauses to think. Maeve is about to remind her that she's on a call with Gemma Maeve Schreave when she continues. "I don't know the whole story here, of course, but from what it sounds to me, maybe you could look into who'd be 'available' and befriend with the right people, to start with." That's the plan either way. "Maybe you even find someone you actually like—I'm sure your parents would be happy about the efforts. Maybe there is someone in the same position as you are, even?"

Maeve twirls a strand of her hair and nods. So, nothing new—that's the plan either way. How very helpful Estelle is. "Ah, I see," she mutters. At least she knows that she'd make a great voice actor and if the 'inherit a real estate empire' route doesn't work, maybe that's her future?

Estelle sighs—in a mix of empathic understanding and amusement. "I'm sorry, that's such a Kiera Cass thing to do…. I'm sorry for you."

"A… what thing to do?"

"Oh, right, you aren't from here, are you? Let me explain. It's an Illéan saying. It means that someone did something you'd expect a drunk to do, but they aren't drunk and serious."

"Okay? Who's this Kiera Cass?"

"That's the insider."

"Excuse me?"

Estelle chuckles. "I don't know myself, again, I'm sorry. It's just a saying. What do you think though?"

Great. An insider. Maeve frowns. She should know that. "Well, thank you for your sweet advice, Estelle," she hums. "You're lovely. I'll look into a selection of people." She ends the call without waiting for Estelle to respond.

Find a selection of adequate people. She can do that. Maybe through Noah's birthday and social season, she can find someone who'll both for work her and her family. Maeve smiles. The process will take time, but she decides that it will work. She's Gemma Maeve Schreave, after all. Everything will work if she needs it to.

Her Boyfriend Selection™ will work, once it comes to exist.

She waves by a waiter and tells them to send her the bill for the dessert, wine and champagne she had here. Both bottles are barely touched. Details. She doesn't need to care—has better things to do with her time. Once more, she opens her Instagram—this time to figure out where Noah could be.

Unfortunately, her dear cousin doesn't post as regularly as she does. Fortunately, he put the name of a surf club on his account.

Noah's Surf Club (what a creative name, she wants to say, but her wealth comes from Schreave Real Estate, so she's not in that position) is located at the southern beach—nearby the waterfront where the construction site used to be.

Even though the sun is setting and it's colder in Illéa now, Maeve decides to pick that idea up. Better earlier than later—Noah's birthday is coming soon, and she also needs to prepare for that. Whatever Mary is preparing, it won't be the only event.

She takes her Harley and drives to the beach one more time today.

The surf club could, in Maeve's humble opinion, not be called a "house". If even, it was a small, rusty hut. She was glad to know that this hut wasn't everything to it, and that it probably was for the aesthetic. She steps in, finding no one but Jared Kim from earlier in the front. So not a student but an employee here, she concludes. He waves when she comes in.

"Hi, sorry, but we're about to close," he says. "Unless you're here for me, it is."

"Hey," Maeve replies with a smile that needs to be forced, "I'm not planning to surf. Or anything with you, sorry. I'm looking for Noah. Is he here?"

"Yeah, he is," Jared nods. "I gotta confirm first though. This has happened before and I don't want to end up calling the police—you're not some creepy kid that saw him and his friends on Instagram and now wants a rich boyfriend? Or Estelle and the other celebrity friends?"

"Yeah, no." How does he dare to think she'd be like that? Does he have no eyes for quality? Does he know how much her outfit costs? "I'm not. Tell him, Maeve wants to see him."

Jared nods. He's seen her Instagram, of course. "Sure, will do."

He disappears to the store's back. At least he's not flirting too much at work, Maeve thinks and begins to look around; she avoids the sand and wet surfboards. Two girls in bikinis come in, probably to return them or so. She should have brought her swimsuit too...

Then again, she has the rest of her life to spend on Illéa's beaches.

The only girl that _really_ catches her attention is a young—maybe seventeen years old—girl with great posture (no, Maeve is not jealous), Asian features and red hair. Unlike the other girls, she brings a red, glittering bike, and not a surfboard. She pushes the bike inside the store, so naturally, Maeve watches her. She's confused.

"I doubt you can surf with that," Maeve comments before thinking. _Duh_. She can't surf with her Harley either, and the redhead, at least, is dressed better for Illéan "winter". It's not winter. Not compared to Europe. Maeve is _sweating_.

The redhead leans the bike against the wall and turns around to Maeve. Her smile is gentle and pretty. "I know," she replies with said soft smile. "I'm just here to talk to the owner."

Maeve raises her eyebrows. "One thing in common. You know Noah?" _Duh, Maeve, who else owns this place?_

"Yes, I do. He's a good friend." Does that mean that she's important, or is that just Noah having peasant friends? Both are possible; she looks decent, but she still came by _bike_, Maeve thinks. "What about you?"

"Similar. I'm Maeve." Maeve smiles briefly. The redhead doesn't recognize her, Maeve realizes. Therefore, she can't be important. At least not important enough that Gemma Maeve Schreave should bother—not if she doesn't recognize her.

"My name is Kenna Choi. Kenzie is fine," she replies. How strange; Maeve recognizes the voice—that doesn't need to mean anything, but she does. Strange indeed. It's soft, calm and gentle. "Do you live here? I haven't seen you around."

Given the population of seven point one million people in Illéa, that's likely.

Yet, Gemma Maeve Schreave knows better than to correct Kenzie. "Just came back. I lived in Hong Kong for a while." And in America. And in New Zealand. And in Spain and France. And lots of other places.

"Hong Kong?" Kenzie repeats with big eyes. "Have you been to Disneyland? It's great there, isn't it?"

"Of course," Maeve laughs. "Every Friday after work."

"Oh, that's so cool!" Kenzie sighs. "I've always wanted dad to buy me a Disneyland, but he always said that Disney doesn't sell them..."

_Buy_ Disneyland? Maeve tilts her head. If Kenzie mentions that so nonchalantly, then she may be important after all. Maybe her attention isn't wasted after all? She smiles understanding. A twelve years old Maeve had similar wishes. "That's a big mood. I always wanted my parents to do the same, but then I moved to Los Angeles and..." If Kenzie isn't new-rich, then she should know _who_ moved to Los Angeles. Gemma Maeve Schreave did.

"My dad did build an amusement park here, in the end, but that doesn't make it a Disneyland..."

There's an amusement park in Illéa—yes, Maeve remembers that. Choi Amusement Resort something. Kenzie here must be related to that, then. She's important. She's one of them, the rich kids. Her people—the people that Gemma Maeve Schreave belongs to._ Maybe she has a hot brother I could consider? _

Kenzie leans against the counter. "What did you do in Hong Kong?"

"Assistant English teacher at a local high school." It sounds like nothing—like a peasant—if she phrases it like this. "A volunteer work—charity. I worked at a _very_ low docile school. I also got to refresh my Cantonese."

"Do you speak Cantonese?" Kenzie asked, curious. "Where are you from?"

"Illéa. Learning languages is a hobby of mine, and it's my mother's native tongue; she is from Hong Kong. I'm not _that_ good at writing and reading, but I can understand and speak it well enough."

"That's nice," Kenzie replies. "My dad insisted I study Korean and learn French as I grew up…" she sighs. "I wouldn't say that I enjoyed it enough to make it my hobby, though."

Maeve grins. "English, French, Spanish, Cantonese and Mandarin," she begins to count. She's proud of that—even if she would take time to get back into them. "Russian, Italian and German. I wouldn't be able to work as a translator or in professional settings, but social settings? I'd do well. Languages are, so to say, a hobby of mine. I have a degree in linguistics too." Maeve doesn't get further with bragging.

"That's...cool." Kenzie's smile remains polite. "It's a lot!"

"Eight—one is missing; I'm working on Korean right now," Maeve replies.

"Oh. _Nal ihaehal suissni?_" Kenzie asks. _Do you understand me?_ Her Korean sounds pretty accent-free. Maybe her mother tongue then? If her name is Choi, then probably. _Duh, Maeve._

"_Ye_," Maeve nods. _Yes_.

"That's cool. Do you travel a lot?"

Maeve laughs. "The last time I was at home here was three years ago, for one week."

"Ah, I see," Kenzie nods. "How do you know Noah then?"

Before Maeve can reply, Jared and Noah return from the back of the club. Jared points to them, says something about closing up, and goes to the surfboards. He continues work, she assumes and moves her attention to her cousin. Noah looks as always—she can almost see the ocean salt in his wet hair, and there's a wetsuit under his Hawaiian shirt. He hasn't changed in three years, but he still looks a bit confused. He frowns, to be exact, but it makes sense, she reminds herself. Three years ago, she had blonde hair. It must be that.

"Still going by Maeve then?" he greets her grim as always. Maeve never understood how he has so many friends. Noah raises his eyebrows. "Hi, Kenzie. Are you coming to surf _now_?"

"Yes," Maeve replies to him before Kenzie can speak out.

"I told you I was at work; there was no need to spam me with 'come surfing' the whole morning," Kenzie chuckles. "I wanted to discuss the party. I don't have time for surfing today; I'm going to a play."

"Party?" Maeve replies curious. "Your Birthday?"

"Yup," Noah replies unimpressed. "Are you going to invite yourself?"

"Sure," she replies. "When? Where?"

"That depends on Kenzie."

"What do you mean?"

"You can use the Beach House," Kenzie replies to Noah, daring to overlook Gemma Maeve Schreave. "Catering and all is up to you though—I don't have the staff for a party. Oh, and it would be nice if nobody ends up crashing there. I mean, of course, people can if you need them to—it'd just be nice because… forget it."

Noah overlooks her babbling. He forgets it, as she asked. "Sure, will do. I was thinking of a buffet BBQ and a bonfire if that's cool with you?"

"Sounds good," Kenzie nods. "I just need to let my butler know when you'll start setting up, so he doesn't call the police."

"I'll see if I bring friends and do it myself, or hire someone."

Maeve frowns. "Why would you do it yourself?"

"Because it's _fun_," Noah groans. "That's something you don't get, Maeve." He says her name as if it's a _joke_. It's one of the reasons why she doesn't like him. He's his parents' son, in the end.

"You could add some fairy lights and marshmallows," Kenzie suggests. "Maybe fireworks?"

"Bad for the marine life," Noah replies. "We will need to see what we do with the rubbish too—I don't want to leave it on the beach or in the water."

"Duh. Pay someone to clean up as we go."

Noah rolls his eyes but doesn't comment. Kenzie isn't fazed by it, so Maeve decides that she isn't either.

"That'd probably be a good idea," Kenzie agrees. "or, we just use real dishes."

"They're inevitably gonna break and hurt someone. I considered it. Think of Alex—he's inevitably going to turn up."

"Is there any food you could do without?"

Noah shakes his head. "Not when half of the guests spend a thousand dollars for dinner on a daily basis."

"True..." Kenzie sighs. "There's also the issue of smoking and so on... Maeve has a point with hiring someone."

Noah cringes. "Budget though."

"Dude, since when do you need to budget?" Maeve blurts.

"I make my own money. I don't live on grandma's bank account, unlike someone else."

Maeve sticks her tongue out, but she doesn't have a response to that. It's true, but also—why wouldn't she? It'll be hers soon either way. It's hers, essentially.

"We can't clean it together, because half the group with be gone and the other will be wasted."

"Some might help... What about..." Kenzie gazes to the air. "Vienna? She's responsible."

"And her dad is the prime minister. That won't happen. You also need to think about the timing. The party is on a Saturday evening. How many people will want to clean up a beach at three o'clock, Sunday morning?"

"I'm sure Ori would help."

"Even if it was us three, it'd be a lot to do…"

"Alex could clean up for himself." Kenzie huffs. She doesn't like that name. Who is it? Maeve fails to make the connection to previous 'Illéa's famous and infamous' research. "I'm sure he'd do well with learning how to do that. Rina too, and, Gri—"

"Yeah, never. Alex is going to be drunk all night, and Griff and Rina will be occupied stopping him from drowning. There's no way I can talk them into helping." Noah sighs. "We'll need to make sure he doesn't poison the entirety of Illéa's marine life. Not after what happened to his fishes."

"We could try ban him from drinking?" Kenzie suggests.

"I'm fairly sure that Griff tried that in the past. I'm very sure, actually, because their club ships to the Surf Club on a regular basis. He'll find a way around."

Their club? Alcohol? Maybe they run a night club, Maeve concludes. Great though—so who's this Rina, that Ori, Alex and Griff they're talking about? Maeve pushes her hands into her jacket pockets. She knows that Noah's a jerk, but Kenzie? Sure—she's like eighteen years old and she's pretty sure that there's _something_ going on between them (which makes them six years apart in age…), but if her dad ran the local amusement park, you'd expect her to have _some_ class and inform Maeve of who they're talking about… This is Gemma Maeve Schreave they're speaking to!

"Uhm, hi? Hello? I still exist? What are you talking about?" Maeve crosses her arms.

Noah deadpans. "You weren't part of this conversation from the beginning, but okay. If you want to be of use, help Jared close the store."

Kenzie gives her another brief, off smile, and sighs. "Maybe Maeve here is right?" Yes,_ of course,_ she is! "If we just go and organise someone to clean up… Maybe the beach party wasn't the best idea in the first place?"

Noah hesitates. He can't admit her genius, as always. "I'll think about it. For now, I need to close the store. I don't want to make Jared do overtime, he's busy enough. Do you mind if I run whatever I decide on past you later? Tomorrow or so?"

Kenzie nods. "That's fine with me. Text me whenever you need to—although, no, wait. I'm going to a play tonight. My phone will be off. I won't be able to read the text then, but afterwards, I'll be on it immediately! I promise!"

"It's fine, it's fine—I don't want to inconvenience you, Kenzie. Have fun at your play—I'll text you. Maybe the group chat has some ideas."

Kenzie nods. "That's great! See you later then! Bye Maeve, it was nice to meet you!" she smiled when she turns around, leaves the store and gets on her red bike. Why ever she'd ride a bike is still at loss to Maeve.

When Kenzie is out of hearing range, Maeve speaks up, "Is she your girlfriend?"

"Kenzie? What? No—never." Noah shakes his head and steps behind the counter.

"So, you're crushing on her?"

"Gosh, Gemma, no," Noah shakes head distraught, "Definitely not. She's my best friend. Nothing more. Definitely."

"Yeah, totally."

Noah shakes his head, puts a fist down and says, "Her fiancé died recently, Gemma. Shut up. You have no idea."

Maeve is dumbfounded. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'," lectures Noah, "Don't assume stuff—especially when you have no idea about it." He shakes his head. "Anything else I can do for you? If not, I have a store to close."

"No," Maeve looks down, "not really."

"Good," Noah gestures to the door. "There's the door."

Maeve hesitates in turning around. Letting him have the last word? No, never.

"Jerk," she mutters on the way out.

Noah Schreave knows better than to reply.

* * *

**Chapter Recap:**

Maeve procrastinates the settling-down-idea by looking into what her friends abroad are doing. She learns more about Illéa's social media life, though, and discovers Estelle Mun, a radio show host that gives love advice. She calls and asks for help under the alias of Valley Girl America Singer. Although Estelle can't give her something new, Maeve hears about a typical Illéan saying and once again feels alienated from home. She also goes to see her cousin, Noah Schreave, at his surf club to invite herself to his birthday party. She meets his best friend, Kenna 'Kenzie' Choi, who might just be a potential future friend.

**Next Chapter: **Make Overs, but for the Selectee

* * *

**Hello dear readers!**

**This chapter introduces**_ Kenna 'Kenzie' Choi_** by**_ Slytherwitch_**, our first Selected! (except Maeve is aggressively straight-thinking, but we'll get to that eventually). We also meet the Report of CRI and its host, **_Estelle Mun_**, alongside **_Noah Schreave_**, Maeve's cousin! :) This chapter was originally double the length, but I cut it down because it was long, and I wanted to post a month after CRI's first chapter.**

**You've got a list of the cast in the 'first chapter' now, so it doesn't cloud my profile. It'll take time to update, but it exists now and should be easier to find.**

**Thank you all for the lovely response to the first chapter! It's so encouraging to read what you all are planning, chatting about and all! I can't wait to dive into this story with everyone. The SYOC remains open, and it will be until Dec 31, but I may just remove the 'newly arrivals' because I already have many characters. I'll see, so if you still want in, just quickly message me. :)**

**You should be able to find something on Pinterest, by the way. :eyes:**

**Let me know what you think of Estelle, Noah and Kenzie!**

**See you soon!**


	4. Price Tags and Bow Ties

**CRAZY RICH ILLEANS**

**III**

_Price Tags and Bow Ties_

* * *

Her first full day in Illéa passes, and Maeve gives in to the jetlag. It's not a good idea, but Anna and the threat of going through her grandmother's will is reason enough to sleep early—to rest. She needs it.

She meets Anna early in the morning, to discuss her grandmother's will. She still can't see her grandmother—hospital—but honestly, the awkwardness of the meeting and the potential discussion about the Boyfriend Selection™ makes _that_ acceptable. Maeve is fond of Rebecca Schreave, but by no means does she like this 'settling down' idea. It's strange, off-putting and Illéa hasn't been her home in a decade. Meanwhile, the paperwork, even with Anna walking her through, is boring and proves to be no distraction. There's always the fact that Anna has just as much knowledge about legal work as Maeve does. The only thing they _really_ needs is to know what (and that's a lot) and how to inherit. Daphne's notes are clear—Rebecca believes that Maeve will 'settled down' by the time of her death. There's not much left to discuss.

"Is that all?" she asks Anna either way.

"Well…" Anna begins and leans against the wall of the Schreave tower office that Maeve is occupying now. "You can always ask your mother if you can go and start learning how to run the family business?" Both women laugh. Later—not with this jetlag. She'd mess up big time. "Besides that, you need new clothes."

Maeve looks down at her outfit—the same as yesterday. She couldn't be bothered in the morning. It's not that bad in her opinion; it looks good and probably costs _a lot_. Maybe it's even one of her most expensive outfits. Therefore, it looks perfectly fine—no need for new clothes!

"To be exact, you look like you're trying to be rich, but would drink champagne from a wine class."

(_Ouch_. Maybe not 'perfectly fine'.)

"I wouldn't—!"

"I know, I know." Anna waves it off. She's too honest. Maeve cringes. "Yet, you dress new-rich. Someone who'd wear Supreme or plaster brand logos all over them. Your family was among the bourgeoisie, the wealthy and what not even prior to Illéa being build—they were involved into that! You look like your dad won the lottery and invested into the right start up," she lectures. "You, out of all people, should now better than to flaunt wealth."

"That's a bit…" Maeve leans back into the chair. If that's true, she _has_ to change, but she's pretty much wearing what she did everyday abroad… Nobody commented badly there…

"So, it's true that you hung around a bunch of people of…"

Maeve breaks her off. She knows her origin story. "I lived under the name Maeve Daulton in Los Angeles and Miami—Malibu, whatever—and kept going with it for a while. Mum wanted me away from the whole drama here, so she stuck me with some distant relatives that… well… are not as well off as I was used to." She shrugs. They were cool. Rich kids too. Sure—nothing like the people she was used to here, but fun to be around. That included miss Dad-got-me-a-record-contract-and-now-I'll-debut-next-week. "It was fun, but a little annoying if you have to pretend you fly first class."

"Yeah, rich kid problem right there," Anna chuckles. "I'm gonna call your mom's favourite designers and schedule appointments. You will need something for all that high society stuff happening, too."

"The Rose Cotillion is in a month."

"Your cousin's birthday isn't."

"Oh, right."

Anna checks her tablet. "There's his birthday part on the beach the night before, and then there's the reception your aunt is organising. You can't show up in Supreme to that beach party." She pauses. "It's at the Choi's mansion, isn't it? They work with your family. Make an impression on their heiress, Maevy. As for the reception, your grandmother will be there and I doubt she'd want you wearing—" Vague gesticulated motions. "—this. Nor would I. You need to make a good impression," she added. "No pressure."

Maeve deadpans. "Right. No pressure." She can't say she feels that much pressure. She isn't the type to fall for pressure—never did when she lived with the Daultons in Los Angeles, and never did when she lived with her mother's family in Hong Kong and never when she travelled onwards. Maeve is proud to say—she isn't falling for pressure. Never ever. "So?" she therefore asks.

"Go through some boutiques too, maybe? The good ones—the ones that I couldn't afford with my whole annual salary," she teases.

"Sounds expensive," she mutters under her breath.

Anna shrugs. "It is, I guess, but it's also not my money."

How she's capable of being so nonchalant about this is a mystery to Maeve. Of course, she's Gemma Maeve Schreave, the richest girl in all of Illéa, but she can't understand—can't fathom—how Anna is thinking. To waste someone's whole salary on clothes… She thinks of Los Angeles, Wellington and Hong Kong.

"That's cool with you, or do you got any plans I need to consider?"

Not with the lack of friends she has here. "No, nothing."

Anna stans up. "Sweet. I'll get going, then. Unlike someone else, I have work, so have fun with sitting around. I'm sure your mother would appreciate some help though."

"Hmhm… Tomorrow or so."

Anna leaves. Home sweet home. Maeve is alone.

(She does not look at the links Anna sends her later on.)

Between sleeping, personal studies and helping her mother, Maeve's preference is sleep—but that's not how you beat jetlag, so that's out of question. She yawns, and gets up, to talk to her mother about that helping part. She does end up reading through a few things.

And so, a bunch of days filled with paperwork, her personal studies (which predominantly consist of watching a K-drama with and without subtitles) and more and more realising that she knows _nobody_ in Illéa except her cousin—_thanks Instagram and photos of friends partying in New York, gosh how much I want to be there_—later, she ends up spending _a_ _bit_ too much time online. Maeve catches up. Learns. Watches. Cyberstalks, details.

Estelle Mun is indeed quite the celebrity in Illéa—more because of the mystery of her identity than because of the love advice (which, apparently, is good though). People gossip about her, and that one caller, _America_. Maeve doesn't know if she likes that spotlight or not (fame—yay, attention to the Boyfriend Selection™, nay).

Vaelston is _not_ canon and only a ship between two rich kids that also happen to run that fancy club, _The Goldfinger_, and for some reason, it feels like half of Illéa's teenage population is all over them. They're another product of Estelle becoming Illéa's gossip girl. They aren't even One Direction or BTS. Maeve is surprised. Illéa has no taste. _Except they do look good…_ There are a bunch of other celebrities, ranging from reality TV show kid to social media influencers, and a bunch of them tag #CrazyRichIlléans, instead of #RichKidsOfIlléa how everyone else would do. They seem to be a clique. Maeve frowns. This isn't high school—they're far off that!

(She sees Noah and Kenzie in it. Maybe knowing that he's got so many good friend hurts more than this not being home.)

There's little brand logo-ing on their Instagram. There's life—experiences, fun, shout outs to people from all over the world. No five thousand Starbucks shots and staged photos of travelling. The photography is only on the accounts of people who seem to enjoy it genuinely—not for the likes. Some just document their life; others literally just mess around. Vienna van Well—Noah mentioned her, didn't he?—is one of these cases. She looks pretty, is the daughter of the Illéan prime minister, and definitely another kid of the Illéan elite, but her Instagram isn't filled with brands and money, but with beautiful sceneries, quotes, art and memories.

(Her life looks so full, it hurts—even when she has done so much more.)

Anna's words echo in her thoughts. "_To be exact, you look like you're trying to be rich, but would drink champagne from a wine class_."

Their life looks like a dream—but not the unrealistic, overdone way she is used to. Similar to Vienna are others—Orianna Vasilieva and Poppy Astor stand out online. Influencers, Maeve concludes. She finds more—Rina Klydeworth, Perci Santos and Hollywood A-lister Juan Santiago. Too many names. Maeve isn't even sure who is who by now. It's going be a while until she's found her place in _this_ particular group of people, but Maeve decides: these are the people she wants to be friends with. And Gemma Maeve Schreave gets what she wants. She'll be the new centre of their friend group, if they want it or not.

(Except Noah is part of them and he'll stop them from hanging out with them, just because of a few careless remarks ten years ago…)

Being the centre of attention _is_ her life. She is the physical embodiment of that one kid that could afford just a little more (they had no idea how much she could have done) than everyone else—and the one everyone wanted to be friends with. They thought she is Maeve Singer, but no—she is Gemma Maeve Schreave. Period. She's the heiress to the Schreave empire.

(Maeve repeats that so often in the following days, she can't hear her own name anymore.)

Between paperwork and studies, she begins to delete and edit, gets her account verified (because everyone in Illéa with a name has the tick) and outlines what the updated _gemmaeve_ account will be. Between shadowing her mother, trying to get updates on her grandmother and finishing the K-drama she's been watching, she changes her name online from 'Maeve Daulton' to 'Gemma Maeve', as it should be. Her user name remains; previously understood as '[the] gem maeve', it's now a portmanteau of her name—_gemmaeve_. She updates. This isn't 'bunch of kids doing well', it's the Illéan elite. Period. The real deal. She has to be Gemma Maeve Schreave again. It's just been a damn while since she last did. Since she genuinely tried to. Maeve Daulton and Gemma Maeve Schreave feel to different but—she has to be Gemma Schreave.

She has to be.

She has to be.

_(Just how…)_

Ignoring the identity crisis, sometime in between, she heads to the first designer appointment and sits down, discusses, choses and everything. Anna tags along—she's been at enough society events to know how it looks like—and comments—more often than Maeve would like her to. A bunch of bags is already in the car when Maeve walks through examples for the Rose Cotillion. She's got her outfit for Noah's birthday sorted from the boutiques Anna dragged her to, but the Rose Cotillion is another thing. She likes shopping, but no debutante balls.

(Not when she's gonna be the odd one out.)

"These prices are ridiculous."

"Oh, come on, people pay thousands to go onto the Rose Cotillion," Anna replies, almost insulted. "You are invited. People dream of that. I would have liked to, when I was your age." She's what? Five years older?

Maeve glares. "You can be my body-double. We're the same height, nobody's will tell us apart."

She sighs and leans back into the comfy chair. The designer has left for a moment—Maeve's taking her sweet time either way. She turns a page, looks at more white gowns. They definitely look pretty, and the designer is decent. She hasn't heard the name, but then again, the only names she has heard of are Gucci and Michael Kors.

"How much is this one?" she asks, pointing at a pretty one. No—that's false; all are pretty. She's just going through the pages, avoiding the inevitable bill in the end.

Anna shrugs. "Four figures? Maybe five? Who knows? Do you care?"

Again, Maeve glares. "Do you?"

"It's not my bank account, Maevy."

It isn't hers yet either, but she isn't so sure about spending four figures on a dress she'll wear one time and never use again. "I am aware of that."

Anna grins. "That's why I love this job. I get to see all the money spent, but I don't lose a penny."

"_How much_ do you spend on average on these dresses?" Maeve mutters. Whoever created the portfolio, they definitely failed at adding the numbers to them.

Again, Anna shrugs. "You pay around twenty thousand dollars to get into the Rose Cotillion per person. I doubt people care about how much the dresses cost. Look at your mother—she's going lengths to avoid me seeing how much she spends on furniture, clothes and food." She shrugs. "People don't want to know the price tag."

(_That's not how it worked in California._)

"Hmhm." Maeve turns another page, another pretty gown. She'll need to go on, maybe visit some other designers. These dresses are pretty, but she wants to compare prices. Even though she is Gemma Maeve Schreave, she _can't_ get herself to just ignore the price…

Anna looks up. Maeve catches it from the corner of her vision; her eyes are still nailed to the white dresses. She cringes. Anna mentioned having custom-designed dresses earlier… She turns another page of the portfolio. The door opens.

Through the door comes a young woman with brown, curly hair and a pretty smile on her face. Again, Maeve recognises her, but can't place the face. She nods to Anna and Maeve, who are still sitting in the lounge of the designer's office. Following the brunette is a face that Maeve definitely recognises.

Juan Santiago.

(A-list actor. Academy award nominee. Crush of countless girls.)

She's seen him in person before (but, even though she _is_ Gemma Maeve Schreave, doubts he knows her) during the premiere of a blockbuster in Hollywood. A friend's cousin from her time in Los Angeles had been in it (a very minor role), and Juan had been the movies male co-star.

"Good afternoon," he nods to them, before following the brunette. Star-struck (she's not going to lie—she loved the movie), Maeve doesn't change the smile plastered on her face. The brunette is younger than Juan (he's two years older than Maeve, she believes), but there's an uncanny resemblance… Maybe a relative? Sister? Maeve isn't enough of a fangirl to know by heart.

(She can, however, google it.)

Google gives her a response while Juan stops next to the brunette. Maeve doesn't watch them, only notices from the corner of her eye that she's looking at the mannequins. She compares the photo from google and is confident: Gabby Santiago, nineteen years old, model and philanthropist—the child of the artistic Santiago family, and younger sister to Hollywood A-lister Juan Santiago. She's also deaf and mute—that's where the philanthropy part comes in—meaning Maeve, if she wants to be a decent person (and of course, she is) can't just start chatting. Sign language isn't a language she knows… Especially not ISL.

Anna raises her eyebrows at Maeve when their glazes meet—at first, Maeve doesn't get why, but of course. The Boyfriend Selection™. Juan Santiago is definitely on the list that she hasn't started writing yet.

"Rose Cotillion too?" Anna asks.

Juan turns around, touches his sister's shoulder gently and signs something to her._ Note to self—learn sign language_. Gabby briefly fiddles with her hands, before making eye contact again with a happy, friendly smile.

(That's good, isn't it?)

"My sister here, yes. She's looking for a dress."

"Same," Maeve blurts. Is this where she just introduces herself? Or is Anna going to do it? She's has do this well—Juan is definitely on her Boyfriend Selection™ and she cannot, under any circumstances, mess this up.

(Also, even if she doesn't end up choosing Juan in this all, she definitely does not mind being friends with him.)

"Aha."

Silence, for just a moment before Maeve realises that, of course, she's excluding Gabby from the conversation and god knows—she might just be the key to getting Juan's number (not that she couldn't just ask Anna to pull some string but… that feels off). Therefore, she pulls out her phone (as anti-social as it is) and begins writing a note to hand to Gabby.

_Hey! I'm Maeve and also going to the Rose Cotillion for the first time. : ) I'm new to Illéa (ish, just haven't been here in ages) and wanted to hear about what's going on etc. Are you looking forward to the ball? _

She drops the portfolio (she has not found a good dress), and walks straightforward (she _is_ Gemma Maeve Schreave after all) to Gabby. Juan's not paying attention in the moment (he's looking at the mirror) and she gentle touches her on her shoulder. Gabby, surprised, turns around and reads the message on her phone.

Gabby Santiago begins typing an answer. _Hi! I'm Gabby! Yeah, I'm really excited about it! My brothers (the guy next to me is one of them) have been all moody because of the Bachelor's Brunch and me wanting to go to the ball with someone ELSE and not them… _

Right—the Bachelor's Brunch. Maeve totally doesn't take long to remember what that is (she's thinking hard on that one for a moment) before she remembers. A brunch (_duh_) where the debutantes of the ball meet and invite their partners. She's been to the International Debutante Ball in New York, but of course, forgot everything by now.

_I totally forgot about that _ Isn't it tradition to first ask relatives though? (I've only been to a ball in NY so idk)_

Gabby tilts her head, and shakes it. _Not in Illéa, I think. That'd be weird either way. _

That is good—Maeve's closest relative in her age (male or female) is Noah, and she does not intend to spend the evening with him. Even though the ball itself might be boring, she doesn't want to spend it in _Noah's_ presence.

_I see. Do you have a dress ready?_

Again, Gabby shakes her head, and begins typing. _Nah, that's why I'm here._

Maeve just gets around to reading the message when Juan moves his attention to them. He's quite surprised, but again signs to Gabby something. This time, he's nice enough to speak too. "Made a new friend?"

"I'm Maeve. Maeve Schreave," Maeve replies, simultaneous to Gabby's enthusiastic signing.

Gosh, it's been ages since she didn't understand a language. That in the place meant to be her home…

"Juan-Pablo Santiago," Juan replies. Of course, Maeve knows that. She smiles at her, and while his smile is mesmerising, it's actually the bowtie that maintains her attention. The Starry Night by Van Gogh, she recognises on its design. She smiles at it, remembering the time her mother took her to see the painting in New York. It had been when she was visiting New York for the International Debutante Ball.

(Sweet, sweet memories.)

She'll rock the Rose Cotillion too, of course. Make another new sweet, sweet memories, here in Illéa, her new-old home.

"Nice to meet you," Maeve replies.

"So, you're going to the Rose Cotillion too?" Juan concludes. He hands Gabby one of the portfolios of dresses. Gabby smiles, answers his gesture and once again, Maeve wishes she would have prioritised learning sign languages.

"Yes," Maeve nods. "I haven't been in Illéa for years, and my parents want to introduce me to society here. Have you been to the Rose Cotillion?"

"Uhm... once or twice," Juan replies, "It's not that much my type and my people, but I've gone to one two years ago for research purposes."

"Huh? How come?" Maeve blurts without thinking. Of course—movies. Juan starred in a movie featuring high society not too long ago.

"Haven't you known? I am at the edge of the difficult, and rare science that tries to understand the mystery of debutante balls," he replies and turns away. Sarcasm, huh?

Maeve smiles either way—she knows what movie he's talking about. "Yes, of course."

"I've been to related events—Bachelor's Brunch and after party—but I didn't accompany anyone." It almost feels like a warning, Maeve thinks, but decides not to think of it. What matters is that the first designer Anna dragged her to led to her meeting Juan Santiago.

"Gabby however," she goes on, "is obsessed with the idea of going to the Rose Cotillion and all the other balls. She says, she wants to meet people in power—for her charity work—but honestly, I'm pretty sure she's also in for the pretty dresses."

"She looks beautiful. I'm sure she'll steal the show."

Juan chuckles—for the first time since he's arrived here. "You bet that…" He looks into the mirror, again, and turns around to look Gabby. "There's no way I'm letting her go to that Brunch herself."

"She can go with me, if you're concerned."

"I remember going to that once… There was that girl… Uhm… Sausage van Well—no, that's not her name…"

Maeve, desperate to look friendly and calm, tries to not laugh. Sausage? What? She's not sure who this is (although, van Well is the surname of the prime minister), she feels a bit sad for that person.

"It's… it's her name in a group chat I was in," Juan apologises. "Ridiculous, I know, but I don't remember her name."

"van Well, as in the prime minister?" Maeve suggests.

"Yeah, I think she's his daughter."

"Vienna van Well, then?" Maeve goes on. "Vienna… In German, they call a type of sausage 'Viennese sausage', I think. Maybe it's from there?"

Juan looks up to her, impressed. Maeve wants to smile proudly. She's impressing him; that's great! "You sure do know a lot," he says.

"Culture and travelling is a hobby of mine."

"Have you been to Spain?"

"_Si_." _Yes_. Of course, Maeve has to brag. "I studied there for a year, when I was fourteen. A friend who I met during my time in Los Angeles moved there, and I took the chance to have someone to stay with."

Juan smiles amused. "That's nice," he says, in Spanish. "My family's from there."

Fortunately, Maeve is able to stop herself from repeating 'I know'. Again, she tells herself, she's no fangirl but she knows who Juan Santiago is. _You're Gemma Maeve Schreave, girl, he should be fawning over you, not vice-versa._

"That's neat. I only got Los Angeles and Hong Kong. And Illéa, I guess."

(She loves Los Angeles. She loves Hong Kong. She can't admit that of course.)

"Los Angeles isn't a too bad place," Juan replies. Is there a glimmer of a grin in his face?

"Planning to go back?" Maeve asks. She pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I don't know… for a movie, or so?"

Juan shakes his head. "I'm considering an offer for a TV show they want to film here in Illéa, actually. To be closer to my family again."

"That's sweet."

"Isn't that why you're here?"

"Hm?"

"Your surname is Schreave, isn't it? There's only one Schreave family in Illéa. Your cousin mentioned that you came back."

Maeve can't hide this frown. "Oh, Noah did? Do you know him?"

(_Damn it, Noah. Did you corrupt all the handsome guys?)_

"Acquaintances—you can't miss him if you go anywhere to socialise, I'm afraid." Juan replies. He turns to a present assistant of the designer. Maeve previously spoke to her about things she considered, but (against Anna's preference), she doesn't plan to just buy every dress that she likes—she wants to see the whole range first. Then buy one. "Excuse me, when is the new collection out?"

The assistant appears to know what he's talking about. Maeve doesn't. "Early in January. Would you like an invite to the debut, Mr Santiago?"

"Absolutely," Juan replies. "Are you going?" he asks Maeve while the assistant makes a note.

Before Maeve is able to respond, she notices Anna opening something on her tablet and within seconds giving her a soft nod. Is she implying that if she'd like to she could? The assistant, probably having noticed her, looks up. "Would you like an invitation too, Miss Schreave?"

"Sure," Maeve finds herself answering. "Why not?"

The assistant notes it down, and Anna hands her a business card. "All details to me, please."

"Will do," the assistant nods. "Miss Schreave, is there anything else you'd like to see?"

"Uh," Maeve glances to Anna again, pleading for help. Does she want anything else? Anna had asked for all other portfolio and led her through the clothes they had here in the designer's boutique. Besides 'outfit for Rose Cotillion and Noah's birthday', she has no real idea what she was even looking for!

"That's all, I think," Anna replies for her.

Maeve hesitates for a moment, before she understands the silence—they're waiting for her to confirm. Therefore, she quickly nods and smiles. So, they're leaving, she concludes. Too bad—she'd love to talk to Juan a bit more—he just seemed to warm up!

She can't ask him for his number though—that looks too fangirl-y. Instead, she rises and grabs her hand bag, signs on the bill that the assistant prints for her—Gemma Maeve Schreave, not Maeve Daulton like she would have just days before—and waves a good bye to Gabby. She smiles and waves back. Juan nods.

Friend number one—made. Check.

Boyfriend Selection™ Suitor number one—found. Check.

She follows Anna to the car whose back is awfully packed with bags. How many outfits did Anna make her chose? This has to be enough to dress a whole school class. She trembles briefly, when she sits down in the back of the car, Anna following. The driver gives them a friendly nod, follows and starts driving.

Maeve closes her eyes, thinks of the kids she had been with every single day for the past year—she gulps. What is there she can do? Society won't change just because Gemma Maeve Schreave donates a few billions. If she wanted to change the world for real, there would be so many more things she'd need to do.

_You're Gemma Maeve Schreave. You don't care about peasants._

"Where's next?" she therefore asks.

"Oscar de la Renta." Great. Sounds expensive.

Her voice is lethargic. "Who's that?"

"He dressed Jacqueline Kennedy."

"Ah, I see."

"First lady of the States. She married the one that got shot—what's his name again? KFC? Why would you go by a nickname that's used by a _fast food chain_?"

"Kennedy," Maeve corrects her. She spent enough time in the States to know.

"Well, yeah—" Anna evidently doesn't care. "—that's where we're going next. Are you sure you don't just want to order the dresses? That way, nobody will take a design before you—you won't have to deal with something similar. The brands can warn them, and you—if that's the case."

"Nah, it's fine…" She's Gemma Maeve Schreave. It'll be fine. It has to be.

Maeve pulls out her phone—a clear sign that she's not interested in this conversation anymore. She'll go along, buy dresses and do whatever's going on. She opens up her phone and opens Instagram, mindlessly. She scrolls through her feed, clicks on and sighs.

An ad of an Illéan brand pops up—of course, high end (Instagram knows her) and expensive—featuring Gabby Santiago. _Right_, Maeve thinks. She probably wants to keep up contact with her. Friends and all. She opens her Instagram and messages her, more or less on the same autopilot she opened Instagram.

_Hey, it's Maeve :) Just wanted to say hi!_

Does it look too early? No, if anything comes up, she can just explain that she thought she'd forget it—gosh, Maeve's been the new one all the time; she'll be fine. Nobody will question it. They have better—no, other—things to do.

Gabby, fortunately, responds quickly. _Hi! Awesome to meet you, Maeve! Did you choose a dress in the end?_

Before she can begin a reply, Anna speaks up. "Oh, and, one more thing, Maevy. Please don't turn into a stereotypical movie girl that only has eyes for guys. There's more to life than guys—even with your inheritance. You wouldn't ever pass the Bechdel test right now."

"The what?" Maeve struggles to care. What is that inheritance when there

"Ask your mother. Or grandmother. They'll give you a speech." Anna pauses. "Actually, invite me and bring coffee and food."

"Okay…" Maeve types her answer.

(Gemma Maeve Schreave deletes it twice, until writing something vague enough.)

* * *

**Chapter Recap:**

Following her meeting with Anna to discuss the terms of her inheritance, she is confronted with the lack of style, as Anna puts it. They visit one of Daphne's favourite designers, where Maeve struggles to accept Anna's lack of problems with the wealthy spending so much money on clothes. They meet Gabby and Juan Santiago. Happy to find the first Selected for her Selection, Maeve befriends with Gabby over their common attendance to the Rose Cotillion and speaks to Juan, her first self-declared Selected. However, on the way to their next stop, she starts to ponder over the price of that all.

**Next Chapter Teaser: **Maeve needs a lawyer

* * *

**_Author's Note_**

**Pocket, review~ :P**

**We meet the second introduced Selected, **Juan-Pablo Santiago** by Abizeau, and his younger sister, **Gabby Santiago**. Check out the chapter's aesthetic on Pinterest!****  
**

**As for Gabby, I have no experience writing deaf/mute characters, nor do I know anyone in real life, so I completely had to rely on internet guides. I hope I was able to portray things more or less correct, but I would love to have feedback on that!**

**I hope to have introduced all Selected by Chapter 09 (the Rose Cotillion), but the first chapters had been planned before I got any OCs, so I'm trying to fit some cast members in for now. ****The SYOC remains open until Dec 31, but pls get your forms in so I can write ahead. :) :) Meanwhile, upon the prompt of the Discord, I have added halloween aesthetics for most major characters-check out Pinterest!**

**Let me know what you think of Juan, Gabby, and Maeve's feelings on price tags!**

**See you soon!**


	5. Everything Is Awesome

**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**

**IV**

_Everything Is Awesome_

* * *

It's a normal day. It's a peaceful day. It's a beautiful day.

Work is going great. Estelle Mun smiles—she loves her work—and looks at her glittery nails. Earlier today, she had a manicure, which is why they're adorned with magenta and silver stars. She's taken the day on well, taken care of herself and met up with friends. Now she's at work—an exciting afternoon of helping others. The 'On Air' sign is off. They're broadcasting ads right now. Her last call just ended, and the client is happy, even confident about a date. Estelle is happy too—that's why she does this job; to help people. She turns to Ginny who gives her a bubbly thumbs up and an encouraging smile.

(Everything is going great.)

"All clear," she tells her. "The ratings have been up ever since that America Singer girl called. Someone posted about it on Reddit and the whole town is on it. The rich kids fandom is all over her, thinking she might be one of them."

Estelle nods. Understandable (she does too), but besides calling America Singer back (against company policy), they can't really do anything. Ginny gives her the sign for 'add break is over', and turns the volume on her headset up. Estelle takes one last sip of water, smiles to herself and the 'On Air' sign illuminates.

"Welcome back to _The Love Report!_" she hums into the microphone. "We have about half an hour of airtime left, so let's get started! Our next caller is up in a moment…" She readies pen and tablet to take notes.

Ginny is used to the fast pace. There's always high demand and she has to decline countless calls in the early afternoon broadcast. She gives her a countdown—_five, four, three, two, one_—before the beeping of a phone echoes in Estelle's ears. The call had been chosen during the add break, by random computer generation.

(How often did the caller try?)

_Click_. The caller picks up and Estelle opens her mouth to begin with her greeting. It comes out almost automatic, but she loves it and means it. Each time, it's slightly different, she likes to think. Unique, just as each problem is unique. She smiles a little (of course, they can't see her—that's very, very good) which helps to get into character.

"Hello there! You're live on _The Love Report_, and this is Estelle Mun. Why don't you introduce yourself to our listeners?"

There is, however, no response on the other side of the line. There's no 'My name is such and such' and no concerned 'Um... I need advice on this and this'. Only white noise crackles through the line. Estelle looks up to see if anything is up with Ginny, but her sound operator is lost above her controls. She motions the sign for connection difficulties. They have top notch equipment thanks to the show's success, so it has to be on the caller's side.

It has to be that—what else would it be? Estelle opens her mouth, to inform caller and listeners of that and—

That's when it happens. That's when all the lights shut off and Estelle squeaks in surprise_. A blackout?_ Ginny pulls down her headset, says something but through the sound proof glass, Estelle can't hear anything. The sound operator opens the door.

"All okay there?"

Only her tablet illuminates the studio—that and the 'On Air' sign that is still on. Estelle can hear the rattling of the computers, now that the door is open, too. Ginny's eyes look, confused on the 'On Air' sign. It can't be a blackout.

It can't be blackout if the electricity is running. It's something else and—

"Yes, but what happened?" Estelle rises trembling, headset still on her ears. Her heart faces. Her hand sweats. She doesn't even know why—if it's just a technical difficulty, then they can fix that in anytime. Ginny is already back at the controls, trying to regain control and the tablet is still connected to the Wi-Fi, so it may just be the lights and something weird with the computer screens and that's alright and—

It echoes in her headphones. "APOLOGIES, ESTELLE," a computer voice announces. Ginny squeals. The white noise remains. Is it there on purpose? Why would it be? Who called? One thing, though, is for sure: the power isn't out—just all lights. What happened? Her eyes clue on the 'On Air' sign. It's on. It's glowing. It's illuminated—red light, white font. Estelle shivers—like something running down your spine. A cold shiver. There's a tear on Estelle's cheek. She sobs—_what's happening? Will we die? Who is this?_

"I'll call the police. This isn't right," Ginny tells her, with wide hand movements maybe meant to comfort her. She can't understand them—not now. She nods, heavily. If the headphones are on, chances are that the mic is on too—better not give whoever called a clue. Of course, it isn't right. They aren't in a horror movie; this was meant to be a comfy afternoon session at work!

(Estelle doesn't deserve this.)

"Who—what—what happened? Who is this?" Estelle stutters. _Oh my gosh. No, I didn't sign up for this. Never. Not. What—what's going on?!_

"I TOOK OVER CONTROL OF YOUR COMPUTER SYSTEMS. I WANT TO HAVE A CHAT WITH YOU."

"Y-you k-know," Estelle begins, "this is a show _about _talking… no need to _hack_ us…"

"I DO HAVE SOME," A pause. "TEA TO SPILL."

"Tea…?" Estelle blinks, makes confused eye contact with Ginny. She shrugs confused, with her phone at her ear. She's whispering—good. They'll come. They'll save her. Estelle takes a deep breath. She's been in worse places.

Ginny nods. 'Police is coming', she mouths. Right—there are more microphones. They might took them over too—who knows._ Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. Ohmygosh. Iftheyhackedthecomputersthanmaybetheyknowaboutthecalltheyknowaboutthepolitcecomingohmygoshohmygoshidontwantthispleasenoplease—_

"Stelle?" Ginny worries.

It takes her time to snap out of it. "Please—who are you? What do you want?"

"GEMMA SCHREAVE HAS RETURNED TO ILLÉA."

_(What? Who?)_

The white noise cuts out, the lights go on—there's a beeping sound. The call is over. The screens flicker on. The lights come back. There's some beeping, and Estelle—almost not there with her mind—makes the sign to cut transmission. Ginny is prepared for that.

"I—I think," Estelle stutters. She gulps. _Professionalism, come on, you can do that_. "Due to technical difficulties, we'll need to cut off transmission now. I'm terribly sorry, but you know how computers can be. See you next time… This was Estelle Mun, with _The Love Report_."

The 'On Air' sign turns off. Estelle swallows. Ginny hugs her. Another tear runs down her cheek.

(_What is happening?_)

"What is this?" Ginny blurts out. "Gossip Girl? I did not sign up for this when I applied for the job!"

Nor did Estelle—not at all. "I don't know," Estelle stutters. "But oh my gosh, I hope it's over." She sinks into her arm chair when an officer, accompanied by a staff member of the recording studio, arrives. Estelle considers getting up, but no—her legs are too weak. She does grab Ginny's hand.

"Hello," Ginny begins. "I'm Virginia Salvatici—I was the one to call. This is my co-worker," she gestures to Estelle.

Estelle tries to speak up, but she's far too fazed to say anything. What is there to say? _hi, how are you, yes, my studio was just hacked and god knows what this person else could do_. Ginny, fortunately, lets her rest, and even grabs her a bottle of water to drink because apparently, she looks 'as pale as the Southern beach', and kindly explains the situation.

"Do you know who this Gemma Schreave is?" the officer asks her, eventually. He is taking notes. "Has anyone here at the studio any contact with her?"

"No," Ginny replies, "the name rings a bell though. Schreave, I mean. Isn't that—"

Estelle's gaze may be fazed (and she can't stop looking at the 'On Air' sign), but she gathers herself. Her trembling hands fold neatly on her lap. "The Schreaves are active in real estate, Ginny. They're rich—_really_ rich. I think that Gemma is the heiress, but she's left Illéa before I came here. I do know her cousin, Noah Schreave, though. I can ask him."

"Thanks, Miss Mun," the officer replies. "We'll need to get the cyber forensics team here to figure out what happened. I also wouldn't mind asking you to come to the station for a statement, as witness."

"We record the broadcasts," Ginny points out. "I can send you the file. I don't think Stelle is in the position to make a statement right now." Estelle smiles gladly. Ginny is such an angel. "I can drive you, if you want me to."

Estelle, gladly, accepts.

She calls Noah, but besides the 'yes, Gemma is back', he doesn't know a thing about the mysterious caller. Hasn't even listened to today's broadcast, but promises to catch up. He promises to check in with Gemma, talk to her. Ginny wonders about a possible court case, but Estelle reminds her that they have no chance against the Schreave's lawyer army.

If there's one thing Estelle Mun knows, then it's how they tick, and it's the last thing Estelle wants to think of, when she leaves the studio to head home. A court case. Not again. Not when someone took over their studio. Her home.

(That night, Estelle Mun cries herself to sleep.)

* * *

Anna calls Maeve the same day. Maeve wasn't listening—she's preoccupied with Korean pop music (White Blue, or something), Korean vocabulary and generally the language. That is why, when Anna calls her, she replies in the wrong language.

"_Annyeonghaseyo_."

"Hi Maevy," Anna replies, in English, "I can do this in Korean too, but I don't know if you have the law jargon for that. I don't think I have it, at least."

Maeve doesn't. "Yeah, no, sorry. What's up?"

"Do you listen to the radio? _The Love Report_, to be specific?"

"Nope…? Never heard of that?" she replies, before face palming. Of course, she has. That was the show she called a couple of days ago._ Genius, Maeve, genius_. "Delete that—yes, I know what you're talking about. What's with it?" Did someone pick up on 'America' and her issues?

(Because if so, there's nobody who can complain that she sought advice.)

"They were hacked earlier today, at the end of their broadcast. Whoever did that announced that you are back in Illéa, and now the police would like to know if you know anything about that. Unless there's another Gemma Maeve Schreave in town. I doubt there is anyone but you family with that surname." She pauses, and continues with emphasis. "Do you know anything about that?"

"I barely can download a programme on my laptop without getting a virus, Anna. How in the world could I hack someone?"

"You're overplaying that." Anna's far to matter-of-fact for her joke.

"Doesn't change that I don't have a virus protection software."

"The IT department will want to know about that," she remarks aside, not as Anna, her bigger-sister-figure but as Anna Lee, assistant to Daphne Daulton-Schreave. _Not good._ "But yes—the police will probably come by anytime, and you will want to take a lawyer along."

"Anna, I didn't do anything—except maybe watch K-dramas illegally."

"I know, kiddo, but that's the way it works. It'll be fine… but just do what they say, alright?"

Confused, Maeve nods. Of course, Anna can't see that. That's an issue, but Maeve doesn't realise it. Instead, she opens her phone browser and searches three words—her own name. Unfortunately, the first link that pops up is not _ gemmaeve_ on Instagram. It's a news article.

Suddenly, she isn't fond of _The Love Report_ being so popular.

"I will…" she mutters, while reading through whatever is going.

Questions on who she is, answers. Questions on why that happened, and who publicised it. People worrying about Estelle Mun, their beloved and favourite, and whenever she is alright. The radio station hasn't released their statement yet, but people are starting to suspect it to be a terrorist attack. Apparently, Estelle sounding scared equalled terrorist attack.

(Talk about a great entry back into society.)

There's a ring at the door bell—she suspects it to be the reception of the building, informing her of a visitor. The police, Maeve assumes, and she turns out to be right. She picks up the phone again, Anna is still on it, trying to talk to her.

"They're here," she replies. "Can you send one of them over?"

Of course, as Gemma Maeve Schreave, this will not be an issue. She is the heiress to the Schreave empire, and for no reason could anyone ever touch her—this won't matter and everything will be fine, because it has to be.

The Schreave lawyers arrive, the conversation goes on and on, and it becomes clear that Gemma Maeve Schreave has nothing to do, except that her name was dropped and that it sounds like someone is trying to either frame—or dare to bother her. The cops leave, and Maeve insists that she's happy to help if anything comes up.

(Of course, a little more happens, but that's legal nonsense.)

From her Schreave Real Estate email account, she contacts the studio, expressing condolences for the terrible experience and her support if there's anything she can do. Of course, there are people to write these things for her, but not doing it herself is… off. Wrong. Maeve tells herself it's fine, because it shows that she cares.

The Schreaves have a public response out by the end of the evening. Somehow, the main stream media knows beforehand, and nobody there even begins to question if she was involved. LaTV, the by far biggest network around, even expresses their condolences for her to even be bothered. It's really just the internet.

(Thank god for the Schreave's contacts and network.)

There's an easy lawsuit against that too—defamation, for anyone who dares to imply that she may be at fault. Things are being handled; she is told when she goes to bed on the same evening. Her dreams are filled with Noah Schreave and Kenzie Choi, with computers malfunctioning and her friends abroad laughing—without her. Maeve doesn't sleep well, buy if anyone asks, it's the nasty jetlag.

(Everything will be fine. Everything will be fine.)

Because of 'the jetlag', when she wakes up, she's tired. _Damn tired_. At first, Maeve doesn't even remember last night or yesterday afternoon. When she does though, she checks online. Things have changed, the blame shifting from her thanks to the prime-time news. Now the theories circle around Estelle Mun's identity again, and if it's a personal thing, drawing in Maeve for the sake of publicity. The Schreaves are a big name, after all. They discuss whenever Gemma Schreave's arrival has bad implications for her, or good ones, or neither, or both. Maybe they're friends, lovers, or maybe she _is_ Gemma Schreave.

Of course, Maeve wants to know what's up. She only knows that Estelle Mun is _not_ Gemma Schreave. She also knows that the police can't dissect a computer in the eight hours she spent sleeping.

(Everything will be fine. Everyone will love her.)

Maeve decides to go by plan, forget what's going on and maybe have a drink later on. Something fun. Something to socialise. Something to be normal. That sounds like a good idea. Forget what's going on, until someone tells her what to say, or think. Like the lawyers did in a conversation that she herself did not understand.

Yet, the only thing that day that catches her interest is when she puts on the Chanel outfit and heads to the mansion called 'the Illéa Palace'. It's the only thing that takes her mind off it. The old Schreave residence, one of the buildings from the time of Illéa's construction, isn't her favourite, but inheritance, and that's reason enough to leave the modern, high-tech skyscraper she calls her home and head there. All the 'it's an adult thing, Gemma, you can come when you're older' events happened when she last lived in Illéa.

The palace, once of the largest estates (and land in Illéa is _expensive_) is an attraction to tourists, even if you can barely make out the glass roof from the road—too many trees cover it. Rebecca Schreave has lived here alone for her whole life (and Maeve isn't entirely sure if her father and Uncle Julian ever lived here) which is ridiculous, considering the castle's size.

(But it is beautiful.)

The doors don't open for her car, even when her driver leaves the car. Maeve knows why—they have always been ridiculous with the security here. No car gets in unannounced and uninvited. However, Gemma Maeve Schreave is not uninvited, so she tells her driver to 'kindly' remind the security of who she is.

The security still asks for her to come out of the car and identify herself. Ridiculous, Maeve thinks. _Reminder to self, tell grandma to fire security._

After that procedure, though, she's able to go on. The car goes on—although her driver is reminded that he's not to leave the car—and stops in front of the large gate. She can look into the white halls from the outside. The whole building is mostly made of glass, and the endless garden feels like it's a part of the interior. It's like from a fairy tale—far too old to fit an island built by humans. Little Gemma didn't know better. Maeve does.

Inside the glass palace is a much smaller, cosier (well, relatively) house—it's at the end of the water flower garden and the little lake and fountains. A small sanctuary in the big palace, Daphne used to say when describing the Illéa Palace. Rebecca Schreave resides here, although more recently, the hospital would be a better fit for that description. _Oculos qui vult disco, videbit_ is written above the entrance. _The eye willing to learn will see._ She enters, and heads in.

She knocks at the door of the old room that also is her grandmother's office, careful.

"Do come in, Gemma," Rebecca responds. She looks stunning and strong, just as always.

(See? Everything is fine.)

It's irony. There is a lot of irony in this, because Rebecca Schreave both looks like she is dying and that she's forever young. As beautiful, young and strong as always—it explains why there is a subreddit dedicated to proving that Rebecca Schreave is immortal. Rebecca smiles at that, has an assistant print out new 'evidence' regularly, but Maeve knows it's because of her grandmother's ever-strong health. Everyone was dead-surprised when the deadly diagnosis came.

"Hey, grandma…"

It still feels surreal. Especially when it was always Daphne who was the weak, sick one. Now she has two women weak in body and stronger in mind than Maeve can ever be. Large shoes to fill.

"Don't look like you've seen a ghost, Gemma," Rebecca chuckles behind her desk, "I'm not dead yet." Even on the road to death, she is ever-dedicated to the family business. Maeve can see the papers there.

"I'm… I'm sorry, grandma," she replies and takes the seat. "I'm sorry, I couldn't see you earlier."

Rebecca chuckles and points to the calendar. There's writing, but she can't read it from her perspective. "I'm spending more time in hospital than I am anywhere else. I might as well be dead." How she can joke about this, Maeve doesn't understand. "Then again, there's a sweet thing about these 'terminal illnesses' I suppose," Rebecca goes on. "I do have time to organise things."

"You do indeed," she forces herself to say.

(And it involves' Maeve's relationship status.)

"Gemma, don't blame me on your absence. I do need to make sure that my life's work is in safe hands."

"It is," Maeve insists. She clenches her fist. She's been ready for this for ages. She is Gemma Maeve Schreave, after all.

"Oh, dear, believe me—I'm in the process of assuring that." Rebecca smiles. It's that smile you'd give the public or a customer, a potential buyer. Not the smile you give your granddaughter when you're dying and wanting her to get a boyfriend to get the inheritance she always expected. "What happened yesterday?"

(Oh gosh, not that.)

"I don't know." Gemma Maeve Schreave has never even heard of _the Love Report_. Yes, the police know that she called them once under the alias America Singer (she knows better than to lie), but she did emphasise that she would prefer that to remain quiet, even among the investigation and towards Mun. Gemma Maeve Schreave is not America Singer—not to her family at least. She can't admit such a weakness! "I haven't actually heard the recording or anything."

(She's avoiding that on purpose.)

"Have you not?"

"I haven't had time," Maeve lies, but Rebecca will know it's a lie. She always does. "I suppose, I'm not entirely sure if I want to hear it."

"Understandable, Gemma, but I wouldn't worry too much."

"Worry too much when _your name_ was broadcasted over the _whole of Illéa_, by someone who hacked the city's favourite radio host?" She leans back, tilts her head. Does the illness affect Rebecca's mind after all?

(She's totally not worrying.)

"Yes, quite so," Rebecca hums and smiles with _that_ lovely smile, as if she knows about everything in the world. Sometimes, Maeve thinks, she does. "because, darling, aren't you just as frightened as Miss Mun? Aren't you just as worried that somebody will go and blame you? Aren't you just as worried as to how it is possible for someone to broadcast this message, when they could have done so much else? That somebody would chose you above others?"

"Thanks, I totally wasn't planning to sleep tonight."

Rebecca hits the call button speaks. "Please make sure that the security of the apartment tower where Gemma resides is increased." She moves her hand to her lap. "Gemma, whatever is going on, the police will be there to help. There's nothing to worry about—at best, somebody just found your Instagram account changing and maybe, if even, it's a friend from some random country that is not Illéa who is playing a very unfortunate prank."

"… And that's meant to help me calm down?" Maeve deadpans. She wants to listen to her grandmother—needs to—but she isn't even sure how she feels about this all—how can Rebecca be of help? How can these words calm her down?

(She does have a point. Maeve knows people who would troll her like that. Tessa, maybe.)

"It's meant to, but I do understand that it won't erase all worries. It'll be fine."

"It'll be fine won't fix… everything. You know, if you want me to get a boyfriend, then I kind of need to not be that weirdo kid whose entrance back home was announced by hacking everyone's favourite radio host."

(But what about the _hacking_?)

"I'm aware," Rebecca comments. She half-opens her mouth, intending to say something, but doesn't.

"And?"

"And that's why I've contacted Miss Mun, to make sure that in her statement, she'll make clear that my family has nothing to do with it." She smiles. She's won. That's why. Rebecca Schreave always wins. "And that she gets a cybersecurity upgrade.

"What is the chance that she won't sound like she's either forced or paid to say it?"

"She's a good actor, believe me."

Assuming that's true, it'd work out. That, however, would also be _too_ easy. Things aren't that easy for Maeve—even if they are for Rebecca. "That won't change the issue on the mysterious hacker."

"Nobody forces you to use computers."

Maeve cringes. "Yes, yes, in your day, everything was better."

"Exactly. What did we have? World wars, racism, and the threat of nuclear war?"

"Chances are we have all of them too."

"Touché." Rebecca waves it off, literally. "Do tell me, did you get a dress for the Rose Cotillion yet?"

"I have a selection." Another selection. At least this one won't determine her inheritance (she hopes).

"Magnificent." Rebecca not-so-subtly nods to a black folder with the words 'Rose Cotillion' engraved in golden. It must be her notes for the ball—the planning. The Schreave matriarch is in charge of it—since longer than Maeve has been alive.

"What's going to happen to the committee, after you—" Maeve breaks off.

"After I die? There will be an opening in the committee." _Duh_. "I've considered what to do with it, discussed it with the committee, and the general consensus appears to be that we will consider acceptable candidates to—"

(Of course, she can.)

Without much thought, Maeve speaks, "I can do it."

"Yes, I do believe that, but how many Rose Cotillions have you attended? I believe that the number is zero."

(Maybe not.)

"True, but—"

"Gemma, you'll be part of the same process as everyone else. I do hope that you accept that." Maeve frowns. Not exactly the answer she wanted to get It's the opposite. She's Gemma Maeve Schreave—she shouldn't be 'part of the same process as everyone else'. "Let alone, because I do hope you will continue your efforts at work."

(Where do these 'fair, just, ethical decision' ideas come from, _now_?)

"Of course, I will." This answer is genuine. Maeve wouldn't be so after the inheritance if she didn't like the work—at least the things she's seen. Daphne promised her to include her more. She had to, of course, given Maeve's position as heiress.

"Then you'll be busy, Gemma," Rebecca Schreave assures her. "Do make sure to watch your dear mother; Daphne deserves her position very much. She will be a good role model._ Oculos qui vult disco, videbit._"

(Rebecca sounds like a cult leader with that mantra.)

"Of course, grandma," Maeve repeats. She will see—whatever Rebecca means with that saying. She's way too fond of it, given the inscriptions on the walls. It's been a family motto for years—ever since the Schreave line merged with the last descendants of the founder of Illéa.

"Now, on a lighter topic. How was London? Paris? Hong Kong? I probably forgot a few places. It's been a while since we last talked, hasn't it?"

"Paris was nice," Maeve nods. "I made a friend there when I studied there, and we met again." One of many friends, of course. She shows her grandmother the photos from Paris. Of course, Rebecca Schreave is able to use technology (she is, by no means, the average grandmother) but in the soft, warm and motherly smile in her eyes, Maeve can see that she appreciates the gesture. Maeve smiles too. Settling down, Boyfriend Selection™, Inheritance or not, it's not the place that makes the island state her home—it's the people. Rebecca Schreave. Daphne Daulton-Schreave. Maeve smiles. _Home is where the heart is_, she remembers. Yet another Pinterest pin.

(_Is this where my heart is, though?_)

Maeve laughs. "Then, there was London. I met up with some distant cousins of Mary. Ones that I get along with. Their dog was adorable. Then…" She can go on and on, about what she's done, seen and all. Rebecca listens intend, but doesn't say a lot. Instead, she invites Maeve to visit the gardens of the Illéa Palace, because why have a garden if you don't go outside.

That also visit Berlin, London, Paris, Vienna and Madrid. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean a one-day-trip to Europe, but the five peacocks of the Schreave family are a very good choice as well.

(Yes, the names are Maeve's fault.)

She had been seven, just starting with her language-obsession, when she had been obsessed with Asian cities. The first five peacocks held by the family had been named Tokyo (the male, because Tokyo doesn't sound like a girl), Seoul (little Maeve misspelled it as Soul, her mother never led her down), Singapore, Shanghai and Hanoi. They had, since then, adopted another five—this time named by European capitals.

The animals live in almost-wild life in the uncharacteristically large garden (Illéa is an artificial island, and people build up. Gardens are _expensive_. Especially park-sized ones.). Rebecca and Maeve only watch them, because Maeve isn't seven anymore and doesn't chase the peafowl anymore.

(Home is where the heart is.)

"You used to chase them with your friends," Rebecca remembered. "Daphne was always worried about you."

(Her friends are abroad in Europe and the States, Hong Kong and New Zealand. Not Illéa.)

With her friends, yes. Maeve vaguely remembers that. She doesn't remember a lot about her own friends from back then, though. Even then, Noah was a jerk just like his father, and that was why she avoided him and his friends whenever she could. God knows who he's friends with, besides eighteen-years-old-Kenzie.

Rebecca chuckles. "You remember them? Your childhood friends?"

Maeve hesitates. She knows she had two friends she used to hang out with all the time, sometimes more—sometimes even with Noah's friends even when she didn't like him. "Not exactly…"

(They are strangers.)

Her old friends—she could look for them. Re-establish contact. She cut the contact, originally for only one year, because she was meant to. Because that was why she was going abroad in the first place. Get away from Illéa.

('Safety', as they said. 'Sanctuary', as she says.)

"You should try to find them. I'm sure Noah can help you. He has many friends."

"I know." Maeve deadpans.

Rebecca chuckles. "What is it, that you and Noah don't like another?"

_That's obvious. He's a jerk! Just like Julian and Mary!_

Rebecca shakes her head in disbelief. "Sometimes, I never understand you two. He's followed your name scheme though, when Hanoi passed away two years ago. That there," she points to one of the birds, "is Vienna. No doubt named after his girlfriend."

"Noah has a girlfriend?" _And it's not Kenzie? Wow, way to go, Noah._

"Ex-girlfriend, actually, dear, but I'm not so sure about how Noah feels about it. He seems fine, but when I spoke to the prime minister… I'm not sure how Vienna is taking it. It's been a month…"

"… Prime Minister? Noah was dating the daughter of the prime minister?" _Damn, Noah_. "Does he have a son too?"

Rebecca laughs, from the bottom of her heart. "No, he doesn't, but her grandmother is coming by today, for a luncheon. You should join us. The Carlisles will bring _de Rossi_ wine. Do you know it? It's Europe's best. Always my preference." Maeve wonders if her grandmother should be drinking alcohol at all, but given Rebecca's nature and history, she decides to just trust her. "It's too bad that Alessia and Simeon are so busy with life, but I'm sure you understand that, don't you?"

_(Who?)_

Given the fact that she is training to become the CEO of her family empire, yes, Maeve does. "Alessia? Simeon?" she, however, asks. Simeon sounds like a guy's name, at least. A possible Selected? Hopefully?

"The Carlisles' granddaughter and her step-brother," Rebecca replies. "I've not met her before, but from what I've been told, they're both lovely, busy students. Mary might be able to tell you more—she's so much more in touch with society nowadays. Never hide behind accounting books, Gemma, or you will miss all the excitement." How ironic for this to come from the chairwoman of the Rose Cotillion. "They came to Illéa almost a year ago, but both have been so busy with studying that society barely knows them. Alessia will make her debut on the Rose Cotillion too, and I expect Simeon to be present at the Bachelor's brunch."

(No need for their life story, but okay.)

"I see." Alessia and _Simeon_ may just be within her age range, Maeve thinks, and smiles. "I would love to meet them. I'll make sure to look out for them."

"Lovely," Rebecca repeats. "So, will you join us for the luncheon?"

"Of course. Who else is in attendance?"

(And is Simeon hot? Can he beat Juan Santiago?)

Lots of people, for a 'simple luncheon', as it turns out. After a walk in the large gardens of the Illéa Palace, a luncheon with the Carlisles and a few of Rebecca's old friends that Maeve pretends to remember and the promise to be come back eventually ("Oh, Gemma, I'm sure you have more than enough to do. Don't worry, dear," – Rebecca, thank god), Maeve finds herself with not too much to do.

(Everything is going perfectly fine.)

After hanging out with her new friends, aged sixty to ninety, Gemma Maeve Schreave, however, is lost.

It's afternoon. She knows nobody but eighteen-years-old Kenzie Choi and Gabby Santiago for whom she'd need to learn a bit of sign language. Of course, she plans on meeting her again (_Juan Santiago!_) but poor Gabby isn't in the country this week. She is in Thailand for a photoshoot—which Maeve knows first-hand from her, not through her Instagram story.

(Maeve wishes she could be there too.)

She rides her motorbike into the city, and to the beachside. The other side—the south-east—so she definitely won't walk into Noah. The south-side of Illéa can be summarised as 'it's where the tourists are at'. Odd that she likes it so much.

Maeve regrets not taking a bikini with her. Being Gemma Maeve Schreave means she can stop at any store and grab one, but Anna would kill her wearing a blank fifty dollars bikini, and she knows better than to waste so much money when there are—

"Alright, Gemma, shut up," she tells herself when she stops at the waterfront. "Just enjoy the water. Nobody will recognise you. It'll be alright."

She parks the bike, steps into the sand, but turns around. No, Gemma Maeve Schreave can't just go to the beach. That's not fit for the heiress to the world's largest real estate empire. That's like Steve Jobs going for a swim in California. That's a no-no. She'll need to check if the Schreaves have their own beach. Surely, they do.

(Surely, _they_ do.)

They had to, they were the Schreaves and they were her family and they liked her and that was how things worked. They were her family and this was her home and you always have things at home that you want and need and that's why it's your home. It's the basis of operations, the place where you return to and not the private jet that chauffeurs you across the planet.

(Everything is alright.)

(She'll have friends and settle down and be happy and deal with this all and no one will hate her for hacking Estelle Mun.)

(All is good.)

Maeve turns around and drives home. Home is where she's meant to be happy. Instead of being happy, though, Gemma Maeve Schreave hides under pillows and turns on the K-drama she's been watching. How much she'd give to just escape to Korea now… It's almost as if Gemma Maeve Schreave is homesick, even though she is exactly where home is meant to be.

Gemma Maeve Schreave does not cry.

The K-drama is underwhelming, but she makes herself watch it. Maybe she can go and cook something later on, or go out to eat something. Surely, there must be good Korean restaurants in town? She could practise ordering food, something that reminds her of abroad because she likes abroad so much.

"Gemma?" It's the soft, sweet voice of her mother that makes her look up from the middle of the episode and a mental monologue of how she would order _kimchi_. "What are you doing?" She's sitting in her wheelchair, in the doorframe.

Maeve was either more distracted than the show's protagonist when someone sneaked past her, or Daphne is just a genius at being silent. Given the apartment being so adapted to her wheelchair, and Maeve's state, it's probably that.

"Watching television," she replies. Of course, everything is perfectly fine.

"Hmhm…" There's nothing she can do except sit in the doorframe, offer to come in and be a sweet mother that Maeve doesn't deserve.

When Maeve doesn't say anything more, Daphne, of course, finds something to say, "You know, love, Mary invited me to come along this evening. She's meeting a few friends at _Grail_, and going out might just be more interesting than a television show you don't pay attention to."

(And a good distraction, of course.)

Maeve deadpans. Distraction is good, especially when it works, but she doesn't want distraction. She wants _home._ "You _hate_ Mary."

Daphne chuckles. "I wouldn't say hate… I'm just not… _fond_ of her."

"The last time I was here, you spent an evening ranting about how self-righteous she is, for, and I quote, 'a socialite that does nothing but drink wine and do yoga', mum."

"I doubt she does a lot more."

"Why would you go, then?" Maeve laughs out. It's ridiculous, how much they can rant and bitch about Mary Schreave sometimes. They should do that with Noah too, given what _absolute gentleman_ he can be.

"I don't have friends." Daphne deadpans. It's a joke though. Everyone would want to be friends with the de-facto leader of Schreave Real Estate, in Rebecca's absence. Maybe that's why, though. Maybe Daphne means friends as Daphne, not Daphne Daulton-Schreave.

"That's not true."

"Name one of my friends," she dares.

Maeve cringes. She hasn't been in town long enough for that. "Uh… Ha! Gemma Maeve Schreave! You're my best friend, remember?"

("_Mummy and daddy are my best friends!_", she used to say.)

Daphne laughs. "I'll count that once." She smiles, and so does Maeve. "Alright, love, are you coming or not? I need to know if I need to check my outfit with anyone."

Maeve rolls her eyes. "We are _not_ doing matching outfits."

"Aww, I was looking forward to embarrassing you." Maeve choses to throw a pillow at her mother, who catches it. "We're leaving at seven-thirty, don't be late. Grail Casino, so dress decent."

Anna must have given her a few things to complain about, Maeve assumes, while pulling herself up. A week ago, attending a high society event wouldn't have been scary, but going by Anna, she would have absolutely disgraced herself. Now she has a whole collection of new dresses, shoes and what not, and there's no end, going by her calendar.

Maeve ends up with a dress of one of the recent shopping trips; it's black with an illusion neckline (fit for the Illéan 'winter' one degree off the equator), has a belt and enough tulle that if she twirls fast enough, she looks like a ballerina. With a little highlighter, pearl earrings, an old silver family-heirloom-ring and Daphne's in-house stylist, she looks good enough that Daphne doesn't make a joke about leaving her here.

(She also redoes her make up. No traces of teas.)

"I'm sure you'll find someone in your age for, what did you call it? The Boyfriend Selection?"

Maeve's only response is her tongue. She leaves the car, with the clear intent of just walking away from her mother like the adult she is (Daphne's gonna take her sweet time either way), but the size and golden-sparkling water fountains of the casino dumbfounded her. Damn, that's fancy. Very fancy.

Not to say that Maeve has never been to Vegas, but Illéa is a league of its own, as always. She does end up following her mother and the assistant that is coming along (not Anna, unfortunately, it's someone trained to help Daphne with her disability) in the hopes that she can, at least, pretend to have an idea of what to do. It takes a while until they get inside.

(The slow pace does not help with Maeve's anxieties or patience.)

"Oh, and, love, please don't get drunk. I want to see you at work tomorrow," Daphne teases when they reach what a casino employee described as VIP floor. He received them and guided them to yet another fancy, black-golden room.

There are a few figures, all in evening dress, with some poker tables and roulettes. Having no idea how these games work, Maeve plasters a smile on her face and decides that for now, she will tag along with her mother. Even if that means moving at the pace of a snail. Daphne sets the direction (and pace) to a table with at least one player Maeve recognises. She's not exactly happy about that, though.

"It's quite unfortunate, indeed," Mary Schreave tells one of the two present young men. "I was just talking to her, before that unfortunate day. She wanted to make a difference on your family's life, especially your brother…"

"As sad as it is," he replies, "I doubt there is any hope for him."

"We wouldn't know either way."

Daphne Daulton-Schreave aims straight for her ex-sister-in-law. Mary Schreave is sitting at a table alongside two young men and a casino employee, with a—to Maeve—perfect poker face. She rolls by, motions Maeve to take the last empty seat and smiles. "I hope you don't mind us watching?"

"_Enchante_, mi'ladies," the other, younger, man greets. He looks decent—more as if he is working here, in a high-enough position, than like a guest though. _An odd mix for such a recreational activity_, Maeve thinks. Business style, yet charming. And young. "How could we not wish for the presence of such lovely ladies?"

(See? Everything is going great!)

Given Daphne's reaction (nothing), Maeve assumes she knows Mr Enchante. She does give him a smile though, because he looks just _a little_ younger (maybe Kenzie's age, what's with all the kids here?) and if he is in the presence of Mary Schreave, he has to have a decent bank account.

"Thank you," she therefore says.

"I'm surprised you brought your daughter along," Mary, without moving her eyes, replies. Of course, Maeve doesn't get her own greeting. It's not the poker that makes her voice so cold. That is for sure. "This isn't 'bring-your-kids-to-work-day', you know."

"Oh, please, if it was, you'd be soaking in salt water—or where does Noah nowadays spend his days?" Daphne hums and looks at the poker play. She probably knows how to play (unlike Maeve), and also isn't utterly frightened by the chance of saying something wrong to Mary, which in return could reach Rebecca and hurt her _inheritance_.

Mary remains unfazed, but even Maeve knows that it must hurt. Poor perfect Mary Schreave's son is not interested a bit in being a big business man—unlike Gemma Maeve Schreave. If it wasn't for the hairspray, she'd flip her hair over her shoulder.

The other man, in his perfect looking suit, sighs. "All-in."

"For the showdown?" Daphne chirps. "A bit late, isn't it, Mr Vael?"

Vael? That rings a bell! Hey! Maeve knows something—uh, someone. She smiles. The Vael guy (who, however, looks pretty 'I don't know you' to her) clenches his fist. If poker is all about not showing body language, then he sucks.

"Straight flush!" he declares proud.

Okay, maybe Maeve has no idea of poker after all.

"You are a terrible player, Leander," Mary chirps. "Royal flush."

Mr Enchante huffs, and presents his cards. "You win, Mary. I'm surprised, this is my first loss today."

"I'm sure it'll be your only, Mr Santos," Mary replies as the chips move towards her. "You two are simply too young to compete with experience."

Leander rises. "Well, I think that was enough for today's evening. Do excuse me, I don't intend to give you much more time to brag, Miss Schreave." Mary smiles amused as he leaves, and adjusts the chips in front of her.

Mr Enchante turns to the two new-commers. "Are you in for a round? Miss Daulton-Schreave, I haven't seen you playing in ages."

"I don't plan to play, no. I'll leave that to Mary here. I've just been looking for a bit of socialising, if you understand. Gemma, dear, this is—"

"Perci Santos, mi'lady, it's a pleasure," he replies with a smirk and accent that should be illegal. _Goddamn it, I should have gone for Britain instead of Paris; that's almost as good as a Kiwi accent_. He actually rises to come and greet her, and all the tears from the afternoon are forgotten. What a charming man indeed. "May I invite you for a game, then?"

"No, thanks," Maeve replies. "I'm afraid, I don't even know how to play."

"Oh, it's quite easy. I'm happy to teach you."

Mary huffs. "She'll waste the family fortune, Percival, please. I'm happy to play with you later on, if you so much need someone." _That_ is a challenge, definitely. Surely, Gemma Maeve Schreave can learn poker and beat some charming guy in it!

To Maeve's (and the family's) fortune, Perci takes it with a smile. "I see. May I invite you for a drink, then? Gemma, did I catch that correctly?"

"Gemma Maeve Schreave, yes," Maeve smiles. "I do prefer Maeve though."

"Alright, Maeve, the drink is on the house." Perci smirks as he leads her to the bar.

"On the house, huh?" Maeve repeats surprised.

"Percival Santos, humble CEO and owner of Grail Casinos," Perci explains and _actually_ _bows_ to her. "If your name is Gemma Maeve Schreave, then I assume you must be Illéa's lost crown princess?"

That is the last thing it takes to make a smile appear on Maeve's face. Finally, someone who recognises her! "I wouldn't go that far…" She blushes. "I do remember that your name sounds familiar. How could that be? Have we met before?"

He waves the bartender to him, asks for Maeve's favourite drink ("you tell me") and the employee is on his way. "We may have," he hints mysteriously. "There is, of course, my family's construction company. I am proud to say that we work quite a lot with yours, but—"

"Hmm, no, that's not it. It's the 'Perci', not the Santos. I do know of Santos Construction Inc. but, that's not it…"

Perci leans against the bar. "Well, Gemma Maeve Schreave, does a lady as beautiful as you happen to remember elementary school? I do quite remember the young lady that stole one of my favourite marbles through what I thought to be impossible."

"Pardon me?" Maeve chuckles. Marbles? Elementary school?

"We bet," Perci tells, "whenever the coin lands up or down. I quite remember a young lady beloved by everyone, of course, to say 'neither'."

Such a thing sounds awfully like her, indeed. Daring to challenge the odds, not for the sake of the small choice, but for everyone to enjoy the moment.

"We laughed, but she stayed with her decision. I promised, if she was right, she would be given a prize that no money could buy—one of my favourite marbles."

That indeed sounds familiar.

"The coin got stuck in one of the cracks between the tiles. The lady won."

That was her, yes, indeed, she remembered that! They couldn't keep themselves down for the rest of the whole period too; too amusing had the idea that such a thing would be possible been. That pretty marble, with green and blue and purple and yellow like a cloud in the universe itself, it had to be somewhere at home. In her childhood bedroom, maybe?

(So, if they're the same age, does that mean Kenzie is not eighteen either?)

"I do remember—oh! It was you who led that elementary gambling ring, wasn't it? These tales were always a hit in LA." She smiles at Perci. He looks a little younger than he is, but he's definitely a good choice. "Do tell me more," she leans over on the counter and plays with her hair. Gemma Maeve Schreave can flirt too, she decides. "I'm sure you have fascinating stories."

That's when he blushes—no, turns as red as a tomato. "I, uh…" he stumbles and looks to his drink that just arrived. "I wouldn't… say there's that much you know actually I think I need to say hello to a few more guests do some work and—ah, excuse me—!" And he runs off. Without the drink.

Maeve is dumbfounded. Very much dumbfounded. Just now, they had been talking so friendly—she had just been reminding of a childhood friendship! The perfect way to pull him into her Boyfriend Selection™! Maeve sighs and sips on her drink. If Percival Santos dares to leave Gemma Maeve Schreave alone like that, then it's his problem.

"Do you know if I did something? Perci just… ran away!"

Daphne waves it off, and drops her glass of champagne. "Don't worry, love. Percival enjoys flirting a little, but he's easily flustered. He's a good man though." She laughs. It must be normal. "He doesn't mean it bad; he just doesn't do well when ladies return his advances."

Mary rolls her eyes, probably at the 'Maeve was flirting' aspect. "A respectable business man, too," Mary nods—such a rare agreement, huh? "He built the Grail Casino chain on his own, and there are respected all over the world. I'm surprised you haven't seen one, with all your travelling."

"I don't gamble away so much money," Maeve shots back. "We were in the same class, I believe."

"He is definitely better company than Leander's brother," Daphne adds on. "If you ever meet Griffin Vael, do me the favour, Gemma, and just turn around. He's not the company we like."

_That_ is interesting, because "Griffin Vael" rings the 'Vael bell'. That was the kid that got shipped. Mental note—avoid. And maybe read up on the couple to gasp what was going on.

"Percival is quite the enchanting company though," Mary added on, visibly proud of her pun.

Maeve smiled acknowledging. That alone meant that the evening was worth it. Percival Santos—Perci—was another adequate addition to her Boyfriend Selection™. She could contact him through Instagram, maybe, or have Anna fetch his contact details. Surely, that'd be possible for Gemma Maeve Schreave.

"So," Gemma Maeve Schreave begins, "how does this poker game work? I don't plan to play with money, but I sure would love to see how it goes."

(Of course, Gemma Maeve Schreave absolutely totally wins.)

* * *

**Chapter Recap:**

Estelle Mun, Illéa's favourite radio host, is hacked by a mysterious voice that tells her and everyone listening that Gemma Maeve Schreave is back. Maeve, however, takes that pretty easily—after all, she's Gemma Maeve Schreave and everything has to be alright (or not). She can buy it, if necessary. Maeve, after meeting with the police and confirming her innocence, meets with her grandmother, speaks to her about past friends and homes and visits the peafowl, reminiscending of her and Noah's childhood. In the evening, Daphne drags her daughter along to the casino where Maeve meets Griff's older brother, Leander Vael, her aunt, Mary Schreave and flirty-but-shy Percival 'Perci' Santos, who leaves her standing at the bar—to her dismay.

**Next Chapter Teaster: **Relationship 101 by Gemma Maeve Schreave (or something like that)

* * *

**_Author's Note_**

**Welcome back, to chapter four! :)**

**So, yes, the 'certain Vael', Wondy, is Leander. :P Next chapter, next chapter. This time for real, I promise. I was joking. Sorry. Love you lots. Next chapter, I promise. He's there. **

**Frenchie, Amarillo and Izar helped me with translating some stuff again, and Slyther and Green were great feedback buddies, so thank you!**

**Let me know what you think of Rebecca, Mary and Perci—and what you think happened to our poor radio host! How will Perci recover from this? Let me know what your character thinks about the hack! They can't dodge it as smoothly as Perci did today!**

**Lots of love :heart: and see you next month!**


	6. Hands On Helicopter Rides

_**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**_

**V**

_Hands On Helicopter Rides_

* * *

Of course, Gemma Maeve Schreave has to be fashionable ten minutes late. Therefore, she sits alone in her car because in the end, with only Google as GPS, she didn't know how long it'd take, around the corner. She skims twitter on her phone. It seems that everyone in Illéa in her age lives their life on twitter. This evening, she expects the same.

(In fact, it's a total of three certain people with too much time on their hand.)

She watches cars pull up and guests arriving. Among them is a one young man that catches her interest; he's muscular, tall and has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up—handsome. Definitely handsome. He meets another one that Maeve compares to a typical American quarterback.

"Ooh, look who that is," the quarterback taunts. His two blonde accessories girls—from here on addressed as cheerleaders—laugh. "Griffin Vael. Elysian Tech's Black Sheep."

And her heart jumps a beat. She knows that name.

"Shut the fuck up," the other—Griffin Vael—replies, already tense.

"What," the quarterback laughs, "sad that you can't make out with _your boyfriend_? Where's Langston anyway?" Cue giggling from the cheerleaders.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Asshole." He breathes in and out, awfully slowly. He is a bull, about to bulldoze him.

"Look at him, can't even form a sentence. Thank god Leander's got a brain, huh?"

Griffin Vael draws in air. "Leander does _not _have a brain."

"What?" the quarterback crosses his arms. "I know what you tried on him. Claim his work for your own? _Really? _That's dumb, _Griffin Lies and Slander_." They laugh again. Maeve doesn't. She cringes. Stealing work is dumb, yes, but this is Griffin Vael. She's planning on making it out alive.

"His mum must have been so happy that she had Leander before him," the quarterback tells the cheerleaders. That, apparently, is enough.

A punch flies, and it flies hard. The quarterback stumbles back, over the curb and falls on his back. He hits his head on the asphalt. The cheerleaders cry out and dodge. Maeve moves down in her car, hides beneath the windscreen. Maybe he won't see her in the car? She quickly pulls the key. Maeve shuts her eyes. Hopefully, the dark glass are enough…

Time doesn't fly fast. She waits for five minutes. Maeve doesn't dare to unlock her phone; what if it makes a sound? Opens a video? Griffin Vael could notice her.

When the minutes pass, she takes a deep breath. She looks; Griffin Vael is gone. The fashionable ten minutes are over, too. She takes another breath. Griffin Vael is gone—maybe he's turned around, away from the crime scene. The girls and the quarterback are gone too. He definitely has a broken nose now; Maeve can see red-brown on the sidewalk. If Vael is anywhere around, then he's probably going to hurt yet another person, Maeve realises. She unlocks her phone, ready to call the police. She doesn't, though, because with the _Gemma Schreave and Estelle Mun_ situation already going, she doesn't want even more drama to her name. She peeks through her windscreen one more time. Vael is gone for sure. The quarterback is gone. The cheerleaders are too. No signs of anyone (involved) coming.

"This never happened," she decides.

In a bright turquoise top and denim hot pants, fashionable fifteen minutes later, Gemma Maeve Schreave makes her grand entrance. Except, it's not grand. There is a security guard asking for her name, but he (at least) recognises the 'Schreave' on her ID. She's happy to show him that, but the act came a little too fast to be excused as 'avoiding long waiting time'. She isn't afraid that people don't know her, _no_. Never. Absolutely not.

Nobody pays her attention when she walks down the path from the mansion to the beach. She follows the noise—some idle, not-too-loud party music and a lot of chatting. _Gosh, Noah has many friends._ Maeve is taken aback—_wow—_but Gemma Maeve Schreave has seen more. _This is nothing, there's no reason to be jealous_.

(That doesn't mean she's ever had such a crowd for her own birthday.)

She makes six steps; then, a loud noise of a helicopter catches her attention. A gust of air pushes down on her, almost destroying her hairdo. Thank god that she's wearing shorts; the helicopter is hovering above the beach and skirts are flying up. A bunch of people are shouting, but there's far too little chaos for this to be _not_ normal.

"What the—?" Maeve asks. The helicopter silences her words.

Someone follows with a megaphone announcement. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present you—" From the helicopter, several _real rose petals_ fall down, and a hanging ladder with a person lowers. From her point of view, at the edge of the party, she can only make out the shape of a young man.

(Forgotten is the cute Perci Santos and his marbles.)

"—the great Alexander Langston!" As the helicopter approaches the ground, Maeve makes out an expensive suit. Alexander Langston's chocolate brown hair looks like he just woke up (but in the _good way_), and she can't miss his smile. He is _handsome_. What's with Illéa and good-looking guys? Where have they been all her life? Maeve gapes.

Noah though is unimpressed. From the to the now-gone bonfire, he shouts, "You're cleaning this up, Langston!"

Mr Helicopter ignores him and greets the women nearby. The helicopter flies away, and the party returns to its previous goings as if nothing happened. It really is normal. Mr Helicopter waves into Maeve's direction, and for a moment, she thinks he's waving to her, so she smiles. She remembers to close her mouth, too. _Finally_, someone recognising Gemma Maeve Schreave!

Turns out, she's wrong. From behind her, she hears a groan. "Seriously, Alex?"

She turns around to see who Mr Helicopter _actually_ waved to. Coming from the mansion just as Maeve did, _he_ walks by. She freezes; no, she did not need more Griffin Vael in her life. He strolls by, as if he didn't just beat up a quarterback. There are faint scars on his arm; she sees them when he passes and immediately knows where they come from. His face is grim like a gang member about to beat someone up. Beat _her_ up. He's definitely not in a good mood. She gulps.

_Please don't look at me, I'm nobody, no need to look at me_.

"Hello to you too, Griff. How are you doing on this magnificent day?" Mr Helicopter greets his apparent best friend.. He evidently has a bit too much self-confidence, but he looks decent enough, and Maeve is happy to flirt with handsome boys. Especially those with money. She can do Alex Langston. His best friend? Not so much

_Why did I wear heels again? I can't run in them_. Maeve pulls her Gucci bag closer. For the first time in her whole life, Maeve regrets making languages her hobby. Maybe Kung Fu would have been better—or anything self-defense-y! Why didn't she think about a bodyguard? She's Gemma Maeve Schreave for crying out loud! It's only a question of time until someone kidnaps her. _Why in the world is this happening to me—I don't wanna deal with this, mum, this guy is scary and… Ngóh séung heui hēung góng bihng yán chòhng joih dihksīnèihngohkyún._ Definitely—hiding in Disneyland sounds so much better than this, but—Illéa. Inheritance. Money. She's Gemma Schreave, she has to do this. Alexander Langston and Griffin Vael pass by, but Maeve doesn't move.

"Uh, you okay?" god knows who but _thank god_ asks her. Someone from the side—a girl, she assumes by the sounds of the voice.

(Of course, Gemma Maeve Schreave has to mess up.)

"_Haih, dong yìhn, ngóh hóuhóu_," Maeve replies. _Yes, of course, she's good_, except that she's replying in Cantonese. Goddamn languages.

"Oh, uh, you're not from here?" the girl blinks, mutter something to herself and goes on, as if she's some random tourist. "Uhm, do you speak English?"

"Yes. No. What. Sorry." Maeve speaks before thinking.

She turns to the origin of the voice. It's a lovely young woman of her age. Her big blue eyes are piercing—not in a mean, scary but in a calm, sweet way. Maeve is grateful for them and her kind smile. Just like most other party guests, she is holding a cup—but it's not a drink but a to-go coffee cup. Her clothes unwrinkled, hair perfectly styled and an open bag where she can see a planner (…and a camera?), Maeve wouldn't be surprised to see her at work. She blinks. She looks to stylish, too wealthy and proud to be a photographer engaged for the day, so she must be one of Noah's countless friends.

"Yes. I speak English," Maeve puts together, emphasising her Illéan accent just a little bit too much.

Blue Eyes ignores it. "Are you alright? You look quite pale. Do you need water?"

"No, it's fine, it's fine. Sorry. I'm… uh… bilingual mess. I meant to say, yes, of course, I'm alright. Sorry—I just got caught off."

"Understandable. Where are you from?"

"Illéa, actually," Maeve laughs awkwardly, "I just… I don't even know." Her heart is still racing a little. She takes a deep breath. "Maybe it's the heat. I should drink something, you're right." Of course, Gemma Maeve Schreave can't just go and be intimidated by a random party guest. She'll need to speak to Noah in regards of his social circle though. That can happen later.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Although she's here to meet guys, Maeve knows that there's more to life than the opposite gender (and Anna's remark). "That would be lovely. I'm Maeve, by the way."

"Alessia."

_So, Alessia de Rossi? How high are the chances?_

"Are you friends with Noah too? He invited me and my brother to come by. He seems to know all of Illéa, it's amazing. Even Simi—Oh, here!" She waves towards a young, literally model-like man. _Damn, what's with Illéa and hot dudes?_Alessia is beautiful too and warm, and Maeve has to add that despite being eighteen years old, Kenzie was also quite good-looking, and then there's and then there's that strawberry blonde girl in heels, bold colours and with an aura of confidence that Maeve can only dream off—damn—that literal Barbie girl (that she just couldn't take her eyes off when seeing her) and a classy-chic redhead in the distance. She could be a Victoria Secret's model, thinks, with these… She's getting off-track.

(Absolutely off track, she tells herself. She needs to focus on the guys.)

"_Il mio dio, Sia, tu sei bene?_"

Maeve is taken aback. She speaks that language (she thinks), but can't place it—not at first, at least. It takes her a moment, and Alessia's reply ("_Sono bene, Simi_.") to place that it's Italian, that yes, she speaks it, and that the young man asked Alessia if she was alright.

"Oh, Italian?"The de Rossis are Italian, she believes, so Alessia is definitely Alessia de Rossi. Unless there is some freaky coincidence. If so, Maeve doesn't appreciate it.

"Yeah, we're from Italy," Alessia—or Sia, as 'Simi' called her, replies. "Do you speak Italian, too?"

"Cantonese, Italian, Mandarin, a bit Korean, French, Russian and I think some Spanish too…" Maeve half-stutters (and she's not sure if that's Mr Helicopter's company or Mr Hot Guy Nr 2813 here), but despite her pride, she decides to stop listing. She can brag later. "I like learning languages."

"It's fun, isn't it?" Sia asks, ignoring her bragging. "This is Maeve, Simi—this is Simeon, my brother. She isn't feeling well, so we were about to head to the shade and grab her water."

"Those two guys didn't come this way, did they?" Simeon's voice is round about as harsh as Daphne's voice when she speaks about her ex-husband. "Langston and Vael?"

_(Ouch_. _No need to be _that _cold_, Maeve thinks.)

Nonetheless, she points Simeon into the direction that Mr Helicopter and his company headed. "Thank you." At least he's decent enough to thank her.

"Let's head to the bar then, shall we?"

"I'm coming with you."

"… There's really no need, Simi…" Sia replies. "It's just the bar and—"

"Have you seen these two, Sia? I'm not letting my little sister alone—if you want it or not."

_Ooh, Gabby can start a club of 'siblings with overprotective brothers'_. What's next—she isn't allowed to choose anyone but him as company for the Rose Cotillion? The Bachelor's Brunch is _the_ juicy part of the whole ordeal!

"Alright, if you want to," Sia replies defeated. She smiles nonetheless.

(Note to self—create a group chat with siblings of protective brothers.)

Of course, Maeve remembers that Alessia de Rossi and Simeon Adler are students. They must attend Illéa University, because there's no other choice in Illéa if you the best (or rich). That had been the one thing her mother insisted on, 'Maeve, I want you to study at a good university', but _thankfully_, she talked her way out of it. To be fair, Wellington is beautiful. And windy. Details.

"What are you doing—in life, I mean. Studying?" Maeve asks either way, so she won't come across as a creepy stalker—which she totally isn't—web stalking of Illéan rich kids or something.

"We're students," Sia confirms while Simeon shadows them like a security detail. "I'm doing my masters in Journalism while Simi is doing law. I intern at LaTV—do you know them?"

Given the fact that their broadcast on the whole Estelle Mun debacle probably swayed the public opinion in her favour, yes. _Gosh_, the police has been working on that for a week—and still no news! Maybe Noah knows more, because the oh-so-incredible Noah Schreave seems to be friends with everyone…

"I do," Maeve replies

"Stay away from the heir," Simeon notes.

Sia laughed. "You've told me before, Simi. I will, though." She turns back to Maeve. "We only came to Illéa in the beginning of this year though; Oxford graduates."

Maeve nods. "Harvard—and New Zealand, but yeah. Britain is actually one of the few places I've never really lived..."

"One of the few places?"

"In the last decade, the longest I've stayed in one country was for my Bachelor's and Master's degree; other than that, it was just one year each—well, I've been to Hong Kong twice, but that's it."

"Have you been to Italy?"

"Of course! I _really_ regret not taking the time to live there, but who knows, maybe in the future… Any place you can recommend?" Maeve says that as if Rebecca won't die and she won't be Schreave Real Estate CEO soon. There's little space for 'let's live in Florence for a while'…

(Cold shivers run down her spine. _Frightening_.)

"Oh, I don't know. I've spent more time of my life in Britain than in Italy, actually… The only reason Simi even speaks Italian with me is that he doesn't want others to understand him, when he's telling me not to talk to guys…" She eyes him.

"Protective older brother?" Maeve concludes.

Sia hesitates. She tilts her head and stops at the bar where both grab a drink. Maeve doesn't look when she grabs a can and opens it. Sia hands her brother one too, before she finally turns back to Maeve and goes on, "Yes, definitely," she laughs. "I don't mind it though."

"Why not?" Maeve can't imagine why anyone would be too happy with anyone being overprotective—she _loves_ her freedom.

"The guys that only come to you for quick flirts stay away," Sia replies. "It's almost like a quality filter, you know?"

Gabby doesn't seem to appreciate that too much, quality filter or not. Given that Sia is a student, she probably arrived in March—that's when the school year begins. She hasn't been to the Rose Cotillion. Another newbie, maybe? "Are you going to the Rose Cotillion?"

Sia nods. "My grandmother expects me to."

"Same."

"Have you been to the Cotillion before?"

Maeve shakes her head. "Not the Rose Cotillion, but a few events in the States."

"Italy for me," Sia replies. "My step-mother does a lot of work in that direction, and my father is a politician, so it was inevitable." Totally not information she's figured out by now, but she can't say that. Especially when Simeon looks _good_. "Are you going there too?"

Maeve nods. "Yup. Are you going to the Bachelor's Brunch, or is Simeon accompanying you?"

"Hmm… I'm not sure. I promised my grandmother that'd I'd let her manage me during the season in exchange for being able to focus on my studies for the rest of the year. I'd need to ask her, but I'm sure I'm going to the Brunch at least."

"Great," Maeve smiles. "Then Gabby and I aren't alone."

"Gabby?" Sia repeats. "Oh, Gabby Santiago?"

"Do you know her?"

"We're in the same group chat," Sia replies. _What group chat?_ "I think she's the only debutante I know by name, though… I really need to fix my social life, huh…"

"Hmm?" Maeve chuckles. So does she—great. _Note to self, Sia is definitely a good friend candidate._

"Going by some people," Sia begins, "I spend too much time on my studies and internship. I don't agree—Simi does exactly the same, but everyone is entitled to their opinion."

"The whole group chat didn't notice us joining," Simeon remarks. "Give the people in that chat, I don't mind though."

People as in male human beings? Can Maeve join? Now?

Of course, she can't just go 'hey add me pls'. Years of being the new kid have taught her to not do that. She knows how to be the new kid and make friends—even though she can't imagine to impress people with photos of cool vacations if 'arrival by helicopter with rose petals' is the norm.

(This is when she first realises.)

"We should make a support group chat," Maeve suggests, "for the Bachelor's Brunch, I mean." That way she can build a group of friends without looking weird. She's just the new kid willing to support other newbies.

"Sure," Sia replies, and proceeds to add her online. Maeve accepts the friend request (number two done!) and forms the group chat with Gabby and Sia. In the process, Simeon adds her too, and Maeve has to avoid smiling too much. It's going well. The Boyfriend Selection™ is going _very_ well.

"Have you seen Kenzie around, by the way?" Sia asks. "I've been meaning to ask her about the beach clean-up…" Maeve can catch only a glimpse of a group chat and the words 'beach clean-up' over her shoulder. She does catch Noah's and Kenzie's profile pictures. "Simi and I are helping."

"Yeah, apparently, we are," Simeon deadpans.

"No, I haven't, sorry."

"I think Simi and I are going to look for her then. It looks like everyone has arrived by now, so I'm sure she'll be here. Do you want to come along?"

Given the fact that Kenzie is Noah's best friend, no. Not really. She can't just admit that, of course, so she decides to pull the 'Griff Vael is damn scary' excuse. "I think I'll stay here. Still a bit dizzy."

"Alright." Sia's warm smile is genuine. "Get well soon." She waves and turns around and heads off, Simeon following her. Maeve grabs herself another drink from what appears to be an open bar and opens her phone. She slowly—high heels—heads to the beach chairs.

* * *

_** Rose Cotillion Support Group**_

**Maeve **_(gemmaeve)_**: **hello! :) sia and I were talking about debutantes at the rose cotillion. welcome to the support group.

**Gabby **_(GabbyCantHearYou)_**: **That's a cool idea, Maeve! I'll ask the GC if they know anyone else going for the first time! ?

**Maeve **_(gemmaeve)_**:** sure :)

**Sia **_(fioraderossi)_**: **Hello!

**Sia **_(fioraderossi)_**:** It's sad that you were unable to attend Noah's birthday, Gabby. We miss you.

**Gabby **_(GabbyCantHearYou)_**:** I know I'll need to see the photos.

* * *

Gemma Maeve Schreave really wants to know what group chat they are talking about.

Of course, though, she doesn't have a lot of time to contemplate that mysterious group chat. She's Gemma Maeve Schreave—a magnet for the male guests of the party. Very soon—immediately—another one pays her attention. The first thing she notices aren't the words but the scent of _his_ cologne, though.

"Hello, darling."

The sunlight blinds her. The sun is approaching the horizon, so Maeve—regretting not getting one of Anna's countless sunglasses—squints her eyes together to see who's talking to her. Going by the voice, it's Mr Helicopter, aka Alex Langston. Now he recognises her, huh?

"No need to be blinded by my divine beauty."

"It's the sunset, I'm afraid," Maeve replies unimpressed. At least, she's trying to be unimpressed. Alex Langston does look _good_. His company, following with an annoyed expression, isn't a one, but he looks scary and—

"Maeve, isn't it? It's a pleasure, I've been meaning to say hello since you've been back."

_Finally! Someone recognises me_! Maeve almost exclaims it; it's just Alex' company that stops her from moving her mouth. Or anything else. She manages to force a smile, but that's it. "Hi."

"I'm Alexander Langston, if you happen to remember."

She does—but only from researching Illéan celebs and finding a bunch of Yaoi fangirls shipping him and—ah, that's where she recognises his company from. It's not like she hasn't seen them ten minutes ago, or something.

"I'm Griff," his company adds on. Griffin Vael. Yikes. "Hey, Alex, how come you two know each other? Oh wait, isn't she that—" Maeve wants to ask that too, before she remembers that she's Gemma Maeve Schreave and of course, everyone should remember her. Also, Estelle.

"You know her too, Griff," Alex insists. "This beautiful lady here is Gemma Maeve Schreave."

"Schreave? Like Noah? What the fuck? Since when does he have a sister? Did you sleep with Noah's sister?"

Maeve frowns. She wants to correct him—she's his _cousin_! There's a difference; less shared genes! However, it's not on Maeve's to-do list to get beaten up, so she remains quiet. Not with that resting 'will beat you up' face. She lets the boys talk.

"His cousin," Alex corrects. "We were in the same class in elementary school, and that, _Lys_, is _all_."

Griff punches him, but continues the conversation like nothing happened. "Were we? When?"

"In school, until we were twelve. She moved. Don't you remember?"

Griff shrugs. "No? Not really?"

(Yikes. So much about everyone knowing her.)

Alex sighs, shakes his head. "My dear, Lys, how can you forget such a _lovely_ lady?"

"Shut up, you don't even remember who you slept with yesterday."

"Of course I remember. Josie was such a pretty—"

"I see, you absolutely remember her," Griff deadpans. "Her name was Jennie."

(At least they aren't bringing up Estelle.)

"Well," Alexander Langston continues with emphasis. "This beautiful lady here? I couldn't take my eyes off her when we were—"

"_Ooooh!_" Griff leans back. "I remember her! Gemma Maeve Schreave, was it?"

_At last_, Maeve thinks. "Yes," she replies. "That would be me." She crosses her legs, like the supermodels on reality TV shows_. Look cool, look cool…_

"Didn't you have a—" Griff begins, but Alex pushes him aside. Maeve, immediately, readies herself to run, in case this turns into a fight. Alex Langston is unimpressed by Griff Vael.

"Either way, how do you like Illéa? You haven't been here in ages, have you?"

"No, I have not," Maeve replies. "It's nice to be back."

Alex sits down next to her, winks Griff over, but before he can sit, asks him to "be so kind and get us a drink, won't you, Lys?". Maeve is more than happy to take that, if it means that they're getting rid of Griffin Vael. She has a drink, but whatever. She didn't like it either way, and so she throws it away—casually and stylish.

She leans into the beach chair (as stylish as she can with hairspray in her hair) and nods to the rose petals on the floor. "What's with the helicopter?"

"Oh," Alex laughs, "I don't drive, and what's faster to get somewhere but the air?"

Of course, he does. Noah Schreave might be an absolute jerk, meanie and douchebag, but he has some sense in friends. She knows who Alex Langston is. She's seen his Instagram.

"That's true," she replies. "I should get myself a helicopter. I do like my cars though..."

Alex laughs. "You'd get along well with Juan, if he's ever around. That asshole is _way_ too fond of his car."

The first part ("You'd get along well with Juan") is _very_ good. She wants to get along with the actor. Alex Langston isn't a 'worse' choice so to say, but the Jennie-Josie issue does make her a little tiny bit concerned. And he isn't famous—not A-list famous, at least. The 'that asshole' is more concerning, but she decides to assume it's just a little personal conflict. Maybe a rivalry of fragile masculinity.

(He is hot and rich. What else does she need?)

"We all are, aren't we?" Maeve replies. Gosh, keeping relationships good with everyone is _so much_ hard work. She can't just decide 'nah, I don't like New York, I'm moving to Paris' here, can she? Not when Illéa is meant to be her home at least…

"Oh, darling, the skies are much better."

"Show me," Maeve dares.

Before Alex can reply with the inevitable "Of course, I would love to take you, beautiful.", a can of beer flies against Alex; he's too slow to catch it. Maeve looks up, once again shielding herself from the sun. She recognises the arrival. Griffin Vael has returned. _Oh great. _He hands her another can in a 'normal, human manner but with a tad of romantic tension'. As he hands her the can, his fingers brush over hers.

(Props for that, but he still beat up the quarterback.)

"Thank you very much, dearest Lys," Alex hums. Is that this Vaelston everyone is talking about?

"Hi," Maeve forces out. "I'm Maeve."

(Maeve deserves an A+ in starting relationships.)

"I know," Griff mutters. "Griff. Don't waste your time with that loser. He's not worth it."

"Excuse me?" Alex asks amused. "You are graced by my presence every single day, dearest Lys. You should be overwhelmed with gratitude for that!"

"Lys?"

"Lysander, his middle name," Alex replies. "It appears that we all prefer them here."

"What is yours?" Maeve, naïve, asks.

"Alexander—my first name is in homage of the glorious Titus Langston senior."

"Your father?"

"Exactly. Now, Griff, what is happening with our drinks?" Alex waves with his hand, not unlike her friends in Los Angeles when they had gone on vacation in expensive hotels, pretending to be royalty. Fun times.

Griff rolls his eyes. "It's right next to you, Tits." He holds off. He'll go off anytime, won't he? "I'm going to say hi to Noah, and make sure _you_ won't get drunk."

Alex opens his mouth. Maeve can smell alcohol. "_Excuse me?_"

"Yes, yes, excuse you." Griff waves it off, turns away and leaves, not without a, "Don't waste your time on him. Not worth it. He flirts with every pair of breasts he can find."

Alex barely gives Maeve time "Don't waste your precious brain on you, darling. He has his bright moments, but this isn't one of them."

"I see," Maeve laughs. "What are you doing?"

"Here?" He smiles. "There cannot be a good party without Alexander Langston."

"And besides the party? In life?"

Alex shifts. "Have you heard of The Goldfinger? Small, lovely establishment open to only a select few?"

"Yup."

"It belongs to me," he chirps. "I am also the heir to LaTV—I'm _sure_ you've heard of it."

Estelle. Yes. "I have, I have," she replies. "I've heard the name, at least."

"Well," Alex leans back, breathing dramatically, "it's a corporation—very fancy and all—but you could also call it 'media and entertainment group'. Believe me. My father has told me _more than enough_ about that."

They laugh. "How about you?"

"I came back home just about a week ago!" she insists amused. "There is much I could have done; half of that was catching up on what's going on here!"

(Or watching k-dramas. And being broadcasted across the city.)

"Have made any friends yet?"

"A few," Maeve hums. Read Sia and Gabby. Each of them, she has met once. "What do you do for fun? I'm sure, you have many friends."

"A few things." Alex smiles. What a charming smile, Maeve comes to think. "May I invite such a beauty as you are to a flight in my dear helicopter, and a dinner at my respectable home? I'm sure we will become _very good_ friends."

Goal achieved. "Of course," she hums.

Like a prince of a Wattpad novel, he offers her his hand. Like the beautiful, absolutely average (actually not, she's rich, but whatever) protagonist, she takes it and follows him to the helicopter that is arriving almost as if Alex called it telepathically (read—smart watch messaging). He totally doesn't want in her pants. Maeve totally doesn't want in his either.

"I hope you're not too afraid of heights," Alex flirts as he helps her up.

The helicopter takes off, and the sunset, touching, is the best background she could ask for. She smiles at Alex, who proudly grins with a smile that maybe doesn't reach his eye. Alex points out to the skyline, to one of the larger buildings of the central business district.

"That there is the LaTV tower—the headquarters of my dad's work. Guess who's gonna inherit that?" he laughs over the noise of the helicopter. Maeve, of course, does not need to guess.

Maeve takes the chance and points to another skyscraper. "Do you know that building? It'll be mine sooner-than-later."

Alex laughs, amused but hopefully is impressed. He says something and the conversation moves on, as boring and nonchalant as it could possibly be. The wind blows through her air, she can lean back against Alex and his warmth, and hey—maybe Illéa isn't that bad.

_Everything is going great_. _You know_, Maeve thinks to herself, _he doesn't seem too bad. I doubt he'd take every single girl on these flights. Griff was probably just joking._

(The sweet bitterness of one-night stands.)

Gemma Maeve Scheave leaves the party after being there for, at most, an hour.

* * *

**Chapter Recap:**

Maeve arrives at Noah's birthday party, ready to make her grand entrance, when she watches Griffin Vael be insulted by someone and proceed to, at least, punch him in the face. Of course, Maeve hides in her car and arrives late, just in time to watch Alex Langston arrive by helicopter. She is saved by Alessia "Sia" de Rossi when Griff's presence, and his reputation, once more scares her, and shares a lovely conversation with her. She, Gabby and Sia will all have their first Rose Cotillion together. After that, she lets Alex flirt with her, and despite Griff's earnest warnings, comes along to a helicopter ride, dinner, and probably more.

**Next Chapter Teaser:** In summary, Maeve does not like her family

* * *

**So, Wondy, did I lie to you? Did Griff appear?**

**We meet three further Selected (plus one other minor character, Simi), **_Alex Langston_ **by **_Frenchie is French_**, **_Griff Vael _**by **_Wondy-SW _**and **_Sia de Rossi _**by** _Amarillo is Yellow_**! What do you think of these three lovely characters? Will Maeve's friendship with Sia last? What is going to happen between Maeve and the infamous Alex Langston? Please let me know what you think! I really appreciate your feedback!, and also my ego depends on reviews.**

**The deadline for forms is also approaching! It's December 31 23:59 GST. Even if you've sent me parts, I will only consider full forms for the story, and won't hunt after them; I did that for Fallout and I, unfortunately, do not have the time for this.**

**The next chapter will be a bit different, so stay tuned. :) Also, do keep an eye on the Pinterest board. I'll be posting a bunch of new aesthetics very soon!**

**A big thank you to Slyther for the title and Green for helping me again! **


	7. Intermission I

**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**

**Intermission I**

* * *

Even as a child, Noah Schreave dreads birthday parties. Not his own, or his friends, of course. They are fun and age appropriate for energetic ten years old children. What he dreads are the birthday parties of his families, because they are neither parties nor fun. This one in particular is his dad's, and the only good thing about it is the fact that some friends are present. He is seated with the other children, of which most are almost about to jump up and play around. Noah knows better; if he does that, mum will be unhappy and he doesn't particularly like that. Orianna doesn't sit far away from him. He prefers Kenna and Orianna over Gemma's bragging. However, seating is planned.

"That necklace looks really pretty," Marina Klydeworth tells Gemma.

_Don't fuel her ego_, Noah wants to beg, but if he says that, she'll go and tell Daphne. Daphne always defends Gemma, no matter what ridiculous thing she has done. It's a nightmare.

(And who'd dare to speak up to the wife of the Schreave Real Estate heir.)

"Thank you," Gemma pipes up, "Dad bought it for me when we flew to Paris last weekend."

To be able to brag among the elite of Illéa, that is something not many people can do. Gemma twirls a string of hair, while bathing in the attention of children and adults alike. Noah doesn't mind that per se—his self-esteem doesn't need that—but what follows…

"When we were in the Ritz Paris," she goes on, "I got to sleep in the Marie-Antoinette bedroom. Did you know that it's a replica of her bedchamber _dans le Château de Versailles?_ It's a place where world leaders stay._" _She couldn't name one to save her life though.

"Did you go too, Noah?" Kenna asks.

"No," Noah shakes his head. He was abroad too, but he had visited a holiday estate in Thailand with his parents. Just as much a palace, but that doesn't matter. He doesn't need to brag.

The girls around giggle. Of course, they know Versailles as the large, princess palace in France. That's almost as good as Disney world. It's only a question of time until Maeve drops the price tag—twenty-six thousand dollars a night. Heheard it before. She does, and in the same sentence, brings up the Renaissance palace the Schreaves own in Europe. There're two, actually, and Maeve mentions both.

After dinner, Noah stays with Orianna and Kenna, because Gemma is off with her own friends, probably gambling away the family fortune, when mum comes by and gently places a hand on his shoulder. She doesn't want to interrupt their conversation, and lets him finish.

(That's why Mary Schreave is so awesome.)

"What is it, mummy?" Noah asks.

"_Baobei_," Mary begins—in her native Mandarin, not British accented English, and even as a little child, he understands that it means that she doesn't want people to hear. "_Are you alright? Gemma was awful again, wasn't she?_" She sighs. "_I wish that girl would learn not to flaunt wealth. You don't do that. It only brings trouble._"

"_I know_," Noah nods. "_Gemma went to play with her friends now._"

"_Why don't you invite your friends to stay over tonight? We can watch some movies in the cinema, or play video games?_"

"Sure! I'll go and ask Ori and Kenzie," Noah replies. His face brightens, too. A sleepover with his best friends is always awesome. "Can we go now? Otherwise, we'll need to go to bed so early…"

"Of course. I'll talk to Kenna's and Orianna's father. Both are awfully protective, but I'll work it out."

Noah hugs his mother. "Thank you, mum!"

He heads to Orianna and Kenna, and tells them of the sleepover idea. Both are keen. Kenna immediately suggests, "We should watch _The Princess Diaries_. It's such a sweet movie."

Orianna isn't convinced. "How about _Barbie in the Nutcracker_?"

Noah knows his friends. Just like Gemma, they're used to getting their way, and Orianna's and Kenna's fight as to 'whenever Disney or Barbie is better' is legendary. However, they aren't like Gemma. Noah doesn't know her latest obsession, but Kenna and Orianna are willing to compromise. She isn't.

"How about we watch both? We can chose which starts by flipping a coin."

"What do you want to watch?" Orianna worries. "You have a vote, too."

"I just want to hang out with my friends, I'm happy to watch everything."

They agree on that and flip a coin; Orianna wins and they will watch the Barbie movie first. That's fine. They head up the stairs, up to the cinema where Noah starts the movie. They get popcorn, and by the time the old DVD running, they already laugh and joke around.

They get to the middle of the movie until things go down.

The door opens, revealing his aunt, Daphne Daulton-Schreave, with little Gemma Maeve Schreave hovering behind her. Daphne looks tired; Noah's childhood home isn't accessible and he himself know how difficult it is for Daphne to move around anywhere but on the ground floor.

"Kids," she begins stern. "Why did you not invite Gemma? That's not very nice."

"Mummy said so," Noah replies.

"Mary said to do a sleepover with your friends!" Gemma calls out. She crosses her arms. "It's mean to exclude me!"

If so, they weren't just excluding her. Orianna shifts uncomfortable, and looks at Noah questioning. He shrugs at her and reiterates, "Mum was fine with it," but because Noah knows better, he adds on, "but if Ori and Kenzie are fine with it, you can join us."

"No!" Gemma declares. "I don't want that!"

"Then why did she complain…?" Orianna wonders quietly.

"You are mean," she declares, "and I will tell your mother that! I'll make sure you get house arrest!"

Orianna opens her mouth, but Noah waves her off. He sees Daphne's expression; she's always with Gemma. Her world centres around her little girl; there's no way she'd ever speak up against her. "I'll speak to Mary about this," she says as expected. "I expected more of you, Noah."

They leave, and just as always, Gemma ha that awful smug smile on her face.

"Are you in trouble now?" Orianna worries.

Noah shakes his head. "Not if my mother has a say. If."

(Which was another story for another day.)

* * *

**_/ Crazy Rich Illéans (41 unread messages)_**

**_OriTheDoll_**_ has changed **choikenzie**'s nickname to **Milk Shake Speer**._

**Ring a song (**rinasong**):** Context?

**I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**):** Kenzie: I'd like to have a summer berry milkshaaa  
**I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**):** Kenzie: /sees a Shakespeare performance add  
**I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**):** Kenzie: SHAKESPEAR!  
**I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**):** Server: A summer berry milk Shakespeare, alright  
**I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**):** The speer is a typo.

**Ring a song (**rinasong**):** don't change the typo

* * *

**_/ Crazy Rich Illéans (23 unread messages)_**

**_griff_thegriffyndor_**_ has changed **TheKingLangston**'s nickname to **Dognapper**._

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** THE AUDACITY  
**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** EVERYONE  
**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** I NEED YOU TO HELP ME  
**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** ALEX STOLE ONION

**Milk Shake Speer (**choikenzie**):** Alex stole onions?

**Perci Jackson (**RoundTableRoulette**): **fight fight fight

**Not Austrian (**ViennaVanWell**):** I'm sure Alex can afford onions. Just bill him.

**Get Out of The Aquarium (**NoahTheSurfer**):** Yeah ^

**Not Austrian (**ViennaVanWell**): **😊

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** NO I MEAN OriTheDoll

**I'm a Barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**): **I'm sorry? What?

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** ORION  
**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** AUTOCORRECT

**MoneyIsLife (**juansantiago**):** And capslock, evidently.

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** SHUT UP  
**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** I WANT MY DOG BACK

**ring a song (**rinasong**):** lmao dognapper

**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**):** isn't he cute?  
**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**):** look at him :)

**_TheKingLangston_**_ has sent (3) image(s)._

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** GIVE MY DOG BACK YOU DOGNAPPER

**Get Out of The Aquarium (**NoahTheSurfer**):** Be careful, Alex. Orion is still a living being and should be treated as such. Think of what you'd do if Griff took your fishes.

**I'm a Barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**): **This happened before, didn't it?

**Milk Shake Speer (**choikenzie**):** Drama belongs ON the stage, guys…

**Not Austrian (**ViennaVanWell**):** Alex, theft is illegal in Illéa. You can get into trouble for this. Please be careful with Orion and return him to Griff.

**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**):** I'll keep him hostage until he tells the bouncer to let me IN MY OWN CLUB

**Poppin' bubbles (**poppypoppypoppy**): **How is this club even running...

**ring a song (**rinasong**):** Alex spends enough money lol  
**ring a song (**rinasong**):** smh Alex, the new shipment's probably at the Surf Club  
**ring a song (**rinasong**):** just get it from there  
**ring a song (**rinasong**):** or go to a supermarket

**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**):** they dont sell to drunk people

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**): **for a reason dumbass

**Milk Shake Speer (**choikenzie**):** Maybe you could just go and stop drinking for the moment then, Alex? Hm?

**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**):** please, you don't want me sober love

**Milk Shake Speer (**choikenzie**):** shut up jerk

**I'm a Barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**): **Leave Kenzie alone, Alex. You know that she doesn't want you to flirt with her.

**Get Out of The Aquarium (**NoahTheSurfer**):** That, and Vaelston, go solve this on your own and don't involve the group chat. The last time that happened, the Goldfinger got trashed, I believe.

* * *

**_/ Private Messages with Alex Langston (_**_TheKingLangston**) (6 unread messages)**_

**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** E  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** where are you  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** i need you  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**): **smh  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** your employee here is not helpful.  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** smh who even is this

**Noah Schreave (**NoahTheSurfer**):** Jared? Leave him alone, please. He's not getting paid enough to deal with you. There's no shipment here today. Bug Griff or Rina about alcohol.

**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** he refuses to talk to me because of orion  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**): **oh I found your friend on Instagram  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** WHY is his handle **_jarjar_kim_**  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** is that a bad reference  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** it is isn't it  
**Alex Langston (**TheKingLangston**):** smh I know too much Star Wars

**Noah Schreave (**NoahTheSurfer**):** Complains can go to Griff. Give his dog back.

* * *

**_/ Crazy Rich Illéans (513 unread messages)_**

**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**): **wtf_  
_**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**): **when did **_alderism_** and **_fioraderossi_** join the gc_  
_**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**): **was I sober when that happened

**Ring a song (**rinasong**):** maybe you were sober

**Poppin' bubbles (**poppypoppypoppy**):** Probably not.

**Perci Jackston (**RoundTableRoulette**):** How could you not notice the presence of such a beautiful young woman among us?

**Simeon Alder (**alderism**):** Stay away from my sister, Santos.

**Milk Shake Speer (**choikenzie**): **Earlier this year, I think? Noah met them and invited them to join the group chat.

**Get Out of The Aquarium (**NoahTheSurfer**):** Yeah, I met Alessia and Simeon through my mother. They were new to Illéa, so I invited them to join the group chat to make friends.

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegriffyndor**):** well that didnt work out well then

**Not Austrian (**ViennaVanWell**):** They're both lovely but busy people. I'm sure that when the university break starts, they'll have more time.

**I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world (**OriTheDoll**):** Are you joining us at Noah's birthday party?

**Alessia de Rossi (**fioraderossi**): **Yup! :) Looking forward to it! We're both happy to help with the clean up too!

**Simeon Alder (**alderism**):** Are we…?

**Alessia de Rossi (**fioraderossi**):** Yes!

**The Child (**GabbyCantHearYou**): **What lovely people, I'm sure they'll appreciate the help a lot! Still sorry that I can't come :(. I just got my plane tickets, and I'm taking off at 3am Illéa time.  
**The Child (**GabbyCantHearYou**):** If you aren't from Illéa, where are you two from?

**Alessia de Rossi (**fioraderossi**):** Italy, but I spent more of my life in Britain, actually

**Milk Shake Speer (**choikenzie**):** Woooh Britain gang!

**Poppin' bubbles (**poppypoppypoppy**):** Britain gang!

**Perci Jackston (**RoundTableRoulette**):** Enchante, mademoiselle! I, too, have been in the extraordinary position to reside in the United Kingdom.

**_choikenzie_**_ has changed **RoundTableRoulette**'s nickname to **Perci Jackson #BritainGang**. _

**_fioraderossi_**_ has changed **choikenzie**'s nickname to **Milk Shake Speer #BritainGang**. _

**_choikenzie_**_ has changed **poppypoppypoppy**'s nickname to **Poppin' bubbles #BritainGang**. _

**_fioraderossi_**_ has changed **alderism**'s nickname to **Simi #BritainGang**._

**_fioraderossi_**_ has changed her nickname to** Alessia #BritainGang**._

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegryffindor**): **as a general rule, changing your nickname is not allowed

**Not Austrian (**ViennaVanWell**):** Except that some people don't follow it, i.e. Vaelston.

**Don't change your nickname griff (**griff_thegryffindor**):** IT WAS GODDAMN ALEX ON MY PHONE

**Get Out of The Aquarium (**NoahTheSurfer**):** That and all drama stays onstage, courtesy to Kenzie. Welcome to the GC, again.

**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**): **damn I want to eat pizza now

**Simi #BritainGang (**alderism**):** Stay away from my sister, Langston.

**_TheKingLangston_**_ has changed **fioraderossi**'s nickname to **Pizza**._

**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**): **shut up

**_TheKingLangston_**_ has changed **alderism**'s nickname to** Overprotective Brother Tingle**._

* * *

**_/ Crazy Rich Illéans _**

**Dognapper (**TheKingLangston**):** In light of recent events, I am now a pizza lover.

**_TheKingLangston_**_ has sent (2) image(s)._

**Overprotective Brother Tingle (**alderism**):** Shut up, Langston.

**_TheKingLangston_**_ has changed **fioraderossi**'s nickname to **Pizza**._

* * *

**_/ Private Messages with Alessia de Rossi_**_ (fioraderossi)_

**Orianna Vasilieva** (OriTheDoll): Hey Sia! Me and Kenzie are planning a sleep over. Rina, Mariposa and Poppy are coming too. Do you want to come?

**Alessia de Rossi** (fioraderossi): Of course! When is it?

**Orianna Vasilieva** (OriTheDoll): The weekend before Christmas

**Alessia de Rossi **(fioradeorssi): Oh, I'm so sorry, I won't be able to come. I have a thing with my internship.

**Orianna Vasilieva** (OriTheDoll): That's fine! Do you have time the first Friday of next year? Poppy was invited to a spa and invited us all. You could come.

**Alessia de Rossi** (fioraderossi): I would love to, but there's a student union meeting then…

**Orianna Vasilieva** (OriTheDoll): Hmm… When do you have time? We have to meet up at some point.

**Alessia de Rossi** (fioraderossi): I have half an afternoon in the middle of February?

**Orianna Vasilieva **(OriTheDoll): … Sure. I'm sure we can plan something.

* * *

**_KapnOfTheFleet's Analysis on Estelle Mun's Identity given the Hack_**

Hi everyone!

I know it's been a while and you all are waiting for the update on _The Alpha's Mate_. I'm a tad busy with Illéan social season coming up; it means that there is HEAPS new material coming up, and I'm here as your reporter!

That being said, I unfortunately have yet to figure out who Vaelston is going with. I still believe that they won't go together because of society pressures and Rina Klydeworth, but let's keep our hopes open that they'll finally be able to be honest with the world!

Now onto the topic of today's post.

I'm sure everyone has heard of the drama about Estelle by now. Someone hacked her studio while she was broadcasting and gave her the fright of her life. For the centre and source of our beloved Vaelston (and Crazy Rich Illéans Chat content in general), we must protect her! Let's hope the police will find him!

The main point we are taking from the hack is that someone had the urge to let all of Illéa know that a Gemma Schreave is back in town. A bit of research later, I figured out that this person is Gemma Maeve Schreave, Noah Schreave's cousin. You can find her social media profile _here_.

The important question is: who is Gemma Schreave?

For those who only follow this blog for Vaelston content, Noah Schreave is the son of the CEO of the supermarket chain Charles'. The Schreaves own more real estate in Illéa than anyone else, and Gemma Schreave seems to be the Schreave heiress. I have no idea where she was before; her Instagram looks like she's been travelling the whole world for years.

I dug a bit deeper and couldn't place where she was before, especially given that her social media is pretty clean. I'm expecting a recent clean up, possibly related to the Hack. She's twenty-four years old and given her relationship to the Schreaves, probably Illéan.

Now, why is Gemma Schreave so important? Given. Someone hacked Estelle Mun, out of all people, and took on the anger of all of Illéa. We really love her. Now, why hack her to just say that Gemma Schreave is back?

There are a few theories I consider most likely.

Theory Number One: It was Gemma, and she wanted to make a big entrance back home, but it went wrong. I haven't found a lot of images of Gemma in Illéa, or any other evidence, leading to my theory that she hasn't been here in a while. That means that she probably doesn't understand in how high of a regard the people here hold Estelle.

Theory Number Two: It was a prank on Gemma, and Estelle is merely a poor side-liner. We all know what these rich kids can do; who says they can't set up a prank? Maybe Estelle played along and this was actually meant to drag Gemma down, but that didn't work that well.

Theory Number Three: It's somehow related to the Illuminati. That would explain why LaTV immediately jumped to Gemma's defence. Rebecca Schreave, Gemma's grandmother, stands at the centre of the conspiracy and her granddaughter coming back is important. This could have been a wake-up call for the Illéan Illuminati, whatever it means. I'll talk about the Illuminati theory and what Gemma means for in another post.

Theory Number Four: This all was a media stunt. Estelle has voice acted in two TV cartoons as guest; who says that she didn't today, and this all was a media stunt? Sure, The Love Report is going strong and that America Singer (will come to that too! I think it's Rina) just propelled them back up, but who knows? I doubt this theory though, because Estelle is too sweet to lie to us.

Theory Number Five: Estelle IS Gemma Schreave. Hear me out. While we do know where the Love Report studio is, we don't know anything about Estelle's identity. Gemma is Asian. Estelle Mun's surname is Asian. The Love Report, despite its name, is not a radio show anymore but a livestream. Ergo, what is stopping them from pretending Estelle is with them when she's actually chilling on Hawaii, chatting into a headset? All she needs is wi-fi.

If the fifth theory is true, then we have a major hint on Estelle's identity. It also brings in more drama. Who is talking to Estelle/Gemma, and why are they telling her that she is back in Illéa? Is it a personal enemy of Estelle/Gemma? Why are they telling it to her just as she comes back? Is it a stalker?

I've been analysing all activity of 'both' online, but besides Gemma posting a short notice on her Instagram on how she feels sorry for Estelle and grateful for the police investigating, and all, there's nothing. The Love Report cancelled their broadcast for the next days, but that's because the police is doing cyber forensics.

The thing is: BOTH are really good at keeping quiet online. Except, I found Gemma's twitter account. She has deleted everything by now, but I was there on time to see a lot of chat about some helicopter arriving, someone beating another one up and MORE Vaelston content. I'll put up screenshots later. There's not much, but she went to Noah's birthday. That's my point.

Sure, they're cousins, but we all _know_ that Estelle is friends with the Crazy Rich Illéan Group Chat, right? We all agree on that; she's definitely in it. Gemma was at the party where all group chat members were too. This is major evidence that she is Estelle!

I'll keep you guys updated as more happens! Look forward to my Rose Cotillion analysis coming up soon! 3

See you next time!

Merry Cap

* * *

_**Author's Note**_

**I SWEAR, I had been planning this before Izar started with her flashbacks.**

**Now, these chapters will come every five chapters (for now, might turn into ten, I hope not because of consistency but I don't have them all planned) and include chats co-relating to former chapters (or prompts from you guys), and two more scenes. Here, we have Kaptn's interesting analysis on what happened in chapter four, and one of the reasons why Noah and Maeve can't stand another.**

**I'm currently trying to write ahead, so if I managed to get past my goal for 2020, I'm gonna try and update again this month. Don't quote me, though. **

**Thanks for reading, and love you all!**

**edit: pls let me know if you can understand the chat etc, feedback very much appreciated thanks!**


	8. Actions and Consequences

**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**

**VI**

_Actions and Consequences_

* * *

The soft rays of the sun tickling her cheeks wake Maeve up. She lies, bedded in soft, black velvet sheets, and the quiet whistling of the wind, the city and breathing welcome her in the morning. She opens her eyes and yawns. Maeve doesn't recognise the bedroom she's in—and yes, of course she doesn't, because its Alex Langston', and she's slept over here after yesterday. Yesterday. Maeve smiles to herself. She glances to Langston, still fast asleep, and choses not to let him see her with her glorious bed hair.

As quiet as possible,—because Gemma Maeve Schreave isn't an asshole and won't wake him up just yet—she leaves the master bedroom. She still wears his fancy shirt from yesterday—she had all prepared but pyjamas—when she walks down the stairs to the living room. It's almost a mini dress for her.

The penthouse is _state of the art_, _wow_. It's all she would expect from one of Illéa's richest, and given last night… Maybe Alex Langston is an even better candidate than Juan Santiago. Actors always lose their flair as they get older… The living room is large, spacious and has an aquarium spanning a whole wall. She can't find fish though. Odd, but still pretty. There's a whole wall with first class alcoholic drinks, too.

(Her mind roams to the possibilities of what she'd put in there.)

"Good morning, miss!"

Maeve, more than just surprised, turns around to find someone who appears to be a housekeeper. It's not like she and her mum don't have one, but they don't usually linger around like a hawk waiting for its prey. Heat shoots into her face. She's still wearing Alex' shirt and it's pretty damn obvious why she was here.

"Is Mr Langston awake?'

_Play dumb._ "_Qui est-ce?_" _Not that dumb. You aren't Miles Morales. Or French. Isn't he Hispanic or something? Couldn't you at least reply in Spanish? _As much as she loves spider-man, that's a big no. Again, she's not French and there's not the tiniest reason for her to start speaking French.

"Alexander Langston?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Sorry. Tired."

"Ah. Is he awake now?"

"No, don't think so."

"Then, would you like some breakfast?"

"Why not?" If that means getting Miss Housekeeper away from her, yes. She will take all the breakfast in the world. Maeve puts on a terribly forced smile and, instead, turns around to figure out where she's put her clothes.

Upstairs, of course.

She groans at her own stupidity and heads back, where Alex Langston is still fast asleep. She fishes her pants, clothes, and what not from the floor—yikes, wrinkles—and, eyeing the still sleeping Langston, quickly changes. At least he only wakes up when she's changed.

(That doesn't mean her bed hair is gone, but details.)

"Move a bit to the left, the sun's blending," Alex mutters between the sheets.

"What?"

"Just do it, Rina."

_Ouch_. She's not Rina. That's not even close to her name. How's she meant to react to that? That's not happened to her until now! She's Gemma Maeve Schreave! This doesn't happen to her! How does he dare! When she doesn't respond, Alex blinks at her and realises what's up.

"Ah, right, hello Emma."

"Gemma," Maeve huffs. Is he kidding her? "Gemma Maeve Schreave."

"Right. Can you move to the left a little now?"

Out of principle, Maeve does not move. Alex groans, but now he's got no choice but get used to the light. Maeve grabs her clothes, unsure if she's meant to be angry or ignore it. She's Gemma Maeve Schreave; he's got to say something next!

When Maeve doesn't move, Alex glares at her, and sighs. "Oh my. Not getting a hint, huh?" he says to himself. He then turns to Gemma. "You're boring me, darling. Leave."

_What. The. Fuck. How dare you!_

Dumbfounded, Maeve takes a moment to leave. She does, with the staff watching her voiceless. Do they know? Does this happen a lot? Is this normal? Is this normal? She blushes, and grabs her bag closer. _Go away, just away, everything is fine._

(No, it isn't. It never was.)

How does he dare!? She's Gemma Maeve Schreave; you don't drop her like that! She's the heiress to one of the grandest fortunes in the world. He can't just send her out like that! Yet, he does.

Outside is, as Maeve quickly realises, not the pretty avenues, with trees by the sides and cafés opening up, she is used to from Likely, the business district where she grew up in, but some a tad more questionable street. Fennley. Illéa's good old red-light-district. Why is she not surprised that Alex Langston lives here?

Either way, she needs to get away from here before anyone comes onto the idea of questioning what Gemma Maeve Schreave is doing here. That means she picks up her phone and dials the only number that she could—in this situation.

Anna Lee sounds surprised when she picks up. "Maevy? What's up?"

"Where do you live again?"

"Columbia, why? Do you want to buy me an apartment?"

"Nah. Are you heading to work? If so, can you pick me up and drop me at home?"

"It's eleven o'clock. I've been at work for two hours."

"Oh."

"I can get you an uber though, or driver, if you fancy that. Where are you?"

Maeve glances around herself, but to her great dismay, the most noticeable landmark remains to be the entrance to _the Goldfinger_. That's Alex Langston's club, and a pretty clear indicator, if Griff's words were true. She should have listened to him. Really. With a sigh, she names it to Anna.

"Alex Langston? Seriously? No wonder I didn't catch you on any stories online. I was wondering if you ditched the party."

"You follow Noah? His friends?" How dare she? Noah is her archenemy!

"Among others, yes. Why—are you jealous that I don't follow you?"

"He's related to your employer!" Maeve insists. As much as she can with the phone in her hand, she crosses her arms and glances around. There isn't even a café where she can get herself a drink. Terrible. _Note to self—never go to Fennley unless you want to go clubbing._

(She's totally not jealous.)

"The driver is coming to pick you up. Should be ten minutes, twenty at best. I told him you're at the Goldfinger. Can you cope for that long?"

"Yeah, thanks."

The call ends, and Maeve wants to disappear into the ground. Great. Rebecca will definitely end up hearing of that. Maybe, Maeve thinks, she can sell this as a try to settle down—although one-night stand and a "you're boring me, darling" afterwards doesn't sound all too good.

"I shouldn't have given in that easily..." She shakes her head. Yet, Langston _was_ hot, rich, and he was inviting her to a helicopter trip—something he probably does do with everyone else after all.

Her phone beeps. Maeve fully expects it to be a text from Anna, or the driver, but when she looks down, she finds that it isn't. It's a notification about being added to a group chat, named "Questionable Life Choices".

(Maeve sighs. What is she doing with her life?)

* * *

_** / Questionable Life Choices (13 unread messages)**_

**Rina **(rinasong): say hi to our newest club member

**Kenzie **(choikenzie): Didn't we say we wouldn't add anyone without everyone agreeing and knowing her?

**Poppy **(poppypoppypoppy): I agree, but it's pretty much too late now, isn't it?

**Poppy **(poppypoppypoppy): Hi Gemma 💕

**Poppy **(poppypoppypoppy): Welcome to the club 💕

**Vienna **(ViennaVanWell): I thought this chat was dead?

**Vivian **(vivirosethorne): I agree. It was only one time for most of us here.

**Mariposa **(mariposamua): Heyyy! Nice to meet you!

**Noah **(noahthesurfer): Yeah.

**Noah** (noahthesurfer): Also. Why am I in this chat again? Isn't this about having slept with Alex?

**Vienna **(ViennaVanWell): Happy birthday, Noah. I hope the party went well. Sorry I couldn't come.

**Rina **(rinasong): you're in every gc, noah, so you're in this one too, congratz

**Noah **(noahthesurfer): Don't worry. I hope that Europe is fun.

**Maeve **(gemmaeve): what is this? i'm confused.

**Rina** (rinasong): a gc with everyone who slept with alex

**Rina** (rinasong): well not everyone-everyone but the cool people

**Rina **(rinasong): welcome

**Maeve **(gemmaeve): thanks…?

* * *

(At least this Rina—must be the girl Langston mentioned—says she's cool.)

The driver arrives, and Maeve is given a five second break from questioning her life choices. In the car, she tells the driver to drop her home, and she leans against the cold window in the Illéan heat. Great. Noah knows. So much about 'let's not tell family'. And worse, it's Noah. Noah sucks.

(Maeve also does not comprehend how Rina got her contact details.)

At home, she disappears into the shower—hides there. Maybe going back abroad would be better after all. Who needs inheritance—Maeve wouldn't mind working in teaching English again, or maybe work in a business abroad. Just avoid life here! Who knows—she probably could have gotten a decent job somewhere else and just continued pretending to Maeve Daulton! No need to deal with rich arrogant guys who have no interest in her except for a goddamn one-night stand!

(It's not like she could have guessed. _No_, never.)

Besides, she is Gemma Maeve Schreave. Gemma Schreave is the Schreave heiress. She's wealthy, makes the right decisions, and she's Rebecca Schreave's granddaughter. Because she's Rebecca Schreave's granddaughter. Rebecca Schreave is that woman that came back from the bottom, with nothing but her own wit, wisdom and talent. Gemma Schreave will inherit the Schreave Empire, with all that Rebecca Schreave has built and done. She'll change the world, and reign from her throne. Gemma Schreave is the girl all of Illéa is watching. It's the girl that a mysterious hacker talks about, because who doesn't want to know more.

That all—that isn't Maeve.

Her phone rings again when Maeve leaves the bathroom in the fluffy comfy bathrobe. She eyes the caller ID. Mum. There isn't exactly much she can do but pick it up, can she? Stand still, answer and then figure out how she's going to escape this mess.

"Hi, mum," she says into the phone and steps to the window. Even though the sun is high in the sky, the window is still cold. As cold as her disappointment into, well, everything.

"Gemma, honey, where are you?"

"At home, why?"

"You were going to come in into work today." Daphne is disappointed too.

_Oh great. Everyone's disappointed. May as well just rename myself to Gemma Disappointment Schreave,_ Maeve thinks.

"People have fixed work hours, honey. You can't just skip on it."

"Mum, I worked as assistant English teacher. I know that."

"May I ask why you're not here, then?"

"I—I messed up." Hasn't Anna told her yet?

There's a pause, and some talking in the background happens. Maeve wants to roll her eyes, but she can't look up. Not when she's evidently not managing to be Gemma Schreave, like she's meant to be. Not compared to mum who's running a real estate empire for her mother-in-law as if it's just getting up out of her bed in the morning—and that's something Daphne Daulton-Schreave actually struggles with.

"Alex Langston?"

Maeve has nothing to say.

"At least you got his number in case someone hacks Estelle again?" Daphne jokes.

_Not fun, mum. Not fun._ "I don't."

"You slept with him!" she calls out. "How did you not get his number?"

"No need to shout that through the office…?"

"Why did you do that in the first place?" Maeve can hear Anna in the office, calling out. "It's _Alex Langston_. There is no way you wouldn't have heard about his reputation. Even your mum knows that, and she's got no friends!"

"Excuse me?" Daphne feigns indignation.

"Boyfriend Selection™. Gotta get someone, and he was pretty… open for it."

"Since when do you fall in love with your one-night stand, honey? I'm fifty-three years old, and even I know that. Gosh, I'm old…"

Maeve groans. Shut up mum. You have no idea. "It was worth a shot, okay?"

"It's Alex Langston."

"I haven't been in Illéa for ages! Mum, seriously! There's no reason to bully me for this!" She's about to throw her Fortune 8, Elysian tech's newest phone—actually a year old— against the wall.

"Theoretically, I'm just a salty boss because you aren't at work."

Does Daphne get what she is on about? If she could turn time back, then yes, she'd be there! Of course, she'd be there! _Shut up, mum, you have no idea what this is about. You have no idea, no idea what is going on and what this means—you'd never get this._

She bits on her lip, desperate not to jump at her mother. "Alright. I'm on my way. Give me time to dress and I'll be there."

"Great. You can accompany me to lunch with a client."

"_Fun_."

(More fun than Alex Langston, at least.)

[ - - - ]

_** / Rose Cotillion Support Group**_

**Maeve **(gemmaeve): alex langston sucks. don't take him to the cotillion.

**Sia **(fioraderossi): I must agree.

**Sia **(fioraderossi): "Pizza". I don't have time for that. It's demeaning.

**Gabby **(GabbyCantHearYou): Yeah, he is. He calls me a child. I AM NINETEEN YEARS OLD.

[ - - - ]

Besides the (fortunate) affirmation by her lovely friends (busy working and studying, busy in Thailand, Maeve wishes she was), Maeve goes along to a fancy-dancy business lunch with a French lady, regarding an upcoming deal. Anna eyes her like a little child—Maeve wants to scream, "_I know, leave me alone!_", but at least both Daphne and Anna don't _say_ a word. A deal isn't worth bullying Maeve, at least.. Maeve leaves work at point five o'clock, throws herself on her bed and prays that Daphne has physiotherapy and won't be here.

She stares at the wall for hours as if it holds answers, until she grabs her phone. Sia is asking if the dress she is wearing looks good. Simi likes it, she states, and so does Gabby. Even if she's late, Maeve agrees, without even looking. For what is it, again? Right—Noah's birthday. Because he needs two of them. Before she can dive into the rabbit holes of the internet, she gets a peculiar twitter notification—Estelle Mun is live with _The Love Report_.

"Why not?" she wonders. At least Estelle is nice to her. She gets through immediately, doesn't even need to threaten with who she is.

(Which probably wouldn't work either way.)

"Hello there! You're live on _The Love Report_, and this is Estelle Mun. Why don't you introduce yourself to our listeners?"

Maeve channels her best '_This is how Celeste and Tessa talk'_. "Hi, it's me, America Singer. I totally called before about a week ago, if you, like, remember." She better does, given how much the internet talked about her for one day. Then, the Hack happened, and the topic switched to Gemma Schreave. God knows where it's now. She doesn't dare to look.

"Oh, yes, I do," Estelle replies. She chuckles amused. "How is your search going?"

"Totally terrible. Like, to totally make a long story short, I, like, slept with this guy, and he flirted with me, and yes, I totally know how one night stands work, but now, like, kinda' everyone knows, and my mum is totally low-key bullying me, barf!"

There's a pause. "I see…" It's almost as if Estelle knows Alex. Maybe Maeve really underestimated his reputation. "Uhm… When did this all happen?"

"Like, last night. Ohmigod this is really happening…"

Estelle takes a deep breath. "I see. To be honest, I wouldn't say that he's even worth your time. I've only spoken to you twice now, but is some random guy worth dragging you down?" She pauses. "Do sit down your parents and explain to them that their behaviour makes you uncomfortable. Be the adult in the situation."

She nods. "Ah, yeah. Seriously, I totally think that someone else I know—and hate!-like, heard about the whole tea. What do I, like, do if he's all making fun of me, like I think?"

Estelle pauses again. "Hmm… Do they seem like a person that would do it?"

"To me? Totally, lol." Maeve glances at her nails. Anna wanted to get a professional to do them for her, but wasting that much money on nails? It sends cold shivers down her spine. She coped well enough without professionals doing them. For years, to be exact. "Seriously, like, I totally think he'd be all happy if I don't come today. Geez…"

"May I ask why you are meeting in the first place?"

"Like, a family function."

"Ah, I see. Would he bring that up in front of your family, though?"

"Totally. And, like, my inheritance is still seriously at stake, and like, his mum is, like, seriously, a major bitch. His dad, too."

"I see. If everyone knows, could you—"

"Like, seriously, she's such a bitch and like always, gossips around me and my mum, whom she, like, _really_ hates. It's ridiculous! And, like, his dad is just jealous of me. He's like a big nightmare, honestly, and I wish he'd just stop, because, like—"

"Would they? Besides, is having a one-night stand in itself bad?"

Can she imagine the Schreaves listening to The Love Report? No—not at all. Impossible. As if Mary Schreave would waste her time on a podcast. "No," Maeve decides therefore.

"So even if your mother teases you, what could you to do make them think that this little detail doesn't affect you?"

"Like—I don't really now? Own it? That's, like, totally a no. It's, like, _so_ embarrassing!"

Estelle chuckles. "But can anyone in your family mind-read?"

"… No, they can't."

"So, what stops you from owning it?"

Maeve huffs. "Like, me."

"There you go! Just go, and own it!" Estelle hums.

"Hmhm. Thanks." She forces a smile. "As if that'll work."

"Give your best. People don't spend that much time thinking about others."

_Unless you're Gemma Maeve Schreave, but alright._ The call ends. _Yikes. _Yeah—she'll _totally_ own the whole thing, including Alex Langston! She'll wing it! To proof that (to herself), she gets up, into the closet and begins looking through the countless dresses. If she's owning this, then she needs to look that way.

Doing her nails by herself (because why would she pay someone if she can do it herself) takes a little bit more time, but unlike this morning, Maeve is on-time at Noah's childhood home. It's far less impressive when you compare it to the Illéa Palace, but it's old, and even if Maeve ever would have wanted, she couldn't have lived in one of these fancy buildings.

(Wheelchairs, you know.)

This time, and probably because of the party, she's neither late nor extraordinary early. She walks past the entrance and what not, and given her arrival, there are quite a few people in the reception hall. Illéa may not be old, but to Maeve the building could be from Victorian times. The style was probably chosen on purpose.

"Hello!" A confident young woman with strawberry blonde hair approaches her. Maeve recognises her from the party. "I haven't seen you around yet."

The way she talks makes it clear—she expects no need for an introduction. Marina Klydeworth did, however, not count on Gemma Maeve Schreave and her absolute lack of knowledge of anyone upper class in Illéa. Maeve can't avoid saying that she doesn't capture the attention of the guests as she approaches Maeve, and she's not a fan. That's meant to be her!

(That's not true, she recognises Rina from Instagram, but that doesn't mean she knows her name.)

"Gemma Maeve Schreave," Maeve replies.

"Aah, yeah, I remember. You're Alex newest one-night stand." _Fuck_. So much about people not knowing. Maeve slowly pieces things together. Marina must be Rina. _Yikes._ "I like your dress. It fits the theme well."

"… Theme?"

Rina points at pretty much everything and Maeve gets the hint. There's an obvious theme in the decoration going on—light blue, sea shells and beach in general. Given Noah's love for the beach—understandable. At least Maeve's light blue off shoulder dress fits the theme… Damn—she needs to get Mary to organise her birthday…

"I'm fairly sure Mary was pretty proud of it all. Not so sure if Noah isn't embarrassed to death, but hey," she shrugs, "I guess it looks good?"

"A bit like a children's party," Maeve admits, "but they did do a lot. It doesn't look like the ball room looked like when I was here last."

"Oh, that's true. I heard that you've been travelling for a while? Where were you?"

Cue Maeve listing all the different places she's been to longer than 'for just a sightseeing trip' on the planet. Given the fact that Maeve has been to every country on the planet, she can't list that. "Last was Hong Kong, again. It was… eye-opening."

"Aha." Rina flips her hair. "I saw that Tessa Tamble follows you on Instagram. Do you know her?"

Maeve nods. It's that friend from California that was about to debut with her first album, thanks to dad's money and all. "Do you?"

"She just signed with Worthy Productions. My parents run it. She's going to have a concert Illéa soon, isn't she? I heard she signed some other contract too."

Maeve shrugs. She hasn't been in contact. "Dunno, is she?"

Rina flips her hair and nods. Tessa Tamble is a pretty, stereotypical valley girl with a dad who succeeded at Wall Street and/or Silicon Valley (she forgot, one of them, maybe both if Tessa got lucky), who always dreamt of her big break. She's also a friend of Celeste, and that's never good.

"Aww, too bad. Let me know if you hear about anything more. I heard it's something _quite_ interesting."

"If she's signing with your parents' company," Gemma realises, "then why don't you ask them?"

The cheerful, social smile falls from her face. "Oh please," she huffs, "I'd rather listen to Poppy's nerd rants than talk to my _dad_. He's worse than new-rich."

Maeve cringes. "How can you be _worse_ than new-rich."

Worse than Celeste sounds round about impossible, and Celeste Newsome is the worst of the new-rich.

"Wait until you meet my dad," Rina replies. She shrugs. "Have fun at the party. With good old Mary around, I doubt we'll have much fun."

She walks off and leaves Maeve in the crowd, alone. She finds her mum—because of course, her goddamn mum is the only person in this room she can stand that won't leave her or knows of her late night activities, wait, mum does that too—and given the lack of other choices, heads there. She's with Mary. _Great_. And Julian. _Better_. She might as well leave.

"The whole Estelle Mun is a huge problem," Julian insists. "Stocks, ladies. It's my name on the line too."

Daphne sighs, "I am very well aware. I've had a client bring it up too. I'm a tad more worried for Gemma's safety."

"It's been a week. Illéa is over it. People talk about Tessa Tamble and her arrival in Illéa. Thank god she's not coming to the Rose Cotillion. We have enough of that new-rich folk over there."

"Today, just having money makes you wealthy," Julian complains, "It's horrific. Back when I was young, money meant something. Now it means driving Lamborghinis."

Mary sighs. "The amount of Louis Vuitton I am seeing today is just as terrible. There is no high society left to associate with…"

"… Hi." Maeve waves awkwardly.

"Ah. The heart of the problem," Julian mutters.

"It's not like I'm the only one in the news, or rumours," Maeve jags back. She throws up her head, high in pride and totally not stumbling over her words in worry. "Look at Alex Langston—" So much about owning it. Better, not mentioning it.

"We all know that Titus Junior is a lost case," Mary deadpans.

"I can hear you!" Alex called out from awfully close. Maeve naturally tenses up, but he walks past, Griffin Vael by his side, and towards Rina Klydeworth. She turns back (puts her head up high again) and ignores them because Estelle Mun is right, she's better than that and she will own it!

(She just needs to tell herself that often enough.)

"I'm well aware." Mary's smile is a killer. "Gemma, dear," she hums, "have you spoken to Noah yet? My darling, what did you get him?" She looks like she's won, because she _thinks_ that she's got her. Too bad that Gemma Maeve Schreave has this one thing planned.

"It'ts surprise," she hums back. "I've been collecting sand from all kinds of beaches in the world, and had it made into a beautiful decorative wall piece."

"Oh." Mary is impressed by the obvious, natural-coming thoughtfulness of the present. Of course she is, this is Gemma Maeve Schreave behind it!

They're not an option to talk to either. Daphne is lovely (if not slow, yikes, she's always been super slow here) but if Mary and Julian are around, no thanks. She's got better things to do with her time. She waves them bye, and heads through the crowd. Grabs a drink and sips on it, when she finds a familiar, equally solemn face in the crowd. Jared, the Peasant.

"Hello you," she hums at him. He's no choice, obviously, but he's a decent guy to talk to, and looks well enough. "What are you doing here?"

"Noah's my flatmate. When his mum picked up on that, she invited me. The wrong choice, evidently."

_Yeah, in your clothes, you looks like a rubbish bin_. Even Maeve realises that. "It's only as fun as you make it."

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Jared huffs. "You didn't mention you're loaded."

"I'm not loaded." She's Gemma Maeve Schreave. She's more.

"Well, not loaded real estate heiress, you're the cousin of my flatmate, and he's loaded. Sounds pretty damn loaded to me."

"Of course, Noah is your flat mate."

"Unlike you—he mentioned you live with your mum?—he pays his own bills," Jared notes. He's got his own glass. Maybe his inhibitions are lower; elsewise he wouldn't dare to speak to Gemma Maeve Schreave like that.

"How'd this arrangement come to be?"

"I needed a side job, got it at the club as front desk dude, got thrown out of my old flat because the rents here in Illéa are worse than in Hong Kong and Seoul combined—can you do something on that?—and he offered me a room to crash. His old flatmate just left, I think. Then my sister came over because of her PhD and now we're three. How about you?"

"I make my own bills too," Gemma spits. "I work at my family's company."

"Ah, yes, daddy got you a job?"

Gemma's smile drops. "Sweetie, don't talk about things you don't know about."

"Of course, rich kid jargon I don't know? How about Estelle Mun?"

If her smile could drop any further, it would. Maeve sighs. "I am terribly sorry as to what happened to Miss Mun, but I do not have any connection to it. Anyone claiming that will hear of my lawyers." More, Jared Kim does not need to know. He's a peasant, she tells herself, and worse, he is friends with Noah. Evidently no company she wants to keep. "Do excuse me, I have other people to greet."

(Great. Maeve screwed up the one person she get along a bit.)

She looks around. There's no Juan Santiago to talk to, and Alex Langston and Griff Vael are off-limit. She won't deal with them one more time. There! At least one guy she knows—Perci Santos, the cutie from the bar—but he's with another _two_ girls. Redheads.

"Oh great," Maeve mutters but heads on. "Hi there! Hi, Perci."[ML1]

The two red-heads and Perci turn to her. The two redheads eye her, almost as if they know her. The older one—probably her age—wears a dark blue sequin cocktail dress; even Maeve with her limited knowledge of high society fashion recognises that the contrast between her dress and the fiery hair makes her one of the event's best dressed. She matches with Rina Klydeworth's style and natural beauty; either of them could be models.

That's what Maeve is up against. _Great_.

"Do you know another?" the second girl, equally dressed beautifully but apparently even younger than Kenzie Choi, asks Perci.

"Oh, uhm, yeah," he laughs awkwardly. Then, that charming boyish smile comes back. "This is Maeve. We met in elementary school, before I went to Britain."

"Nice to meet you," the younger redhead says. The other smiles, too, but she fiddles with her immaculately painted nails. It's awfully distracting. "I'm Rosalind Astor, and this is my sister, Poppy. Do you know Noah?"

"He's my cousin," Maeve replies. "I just got back home."

_ How have these people not heard of me yet? If even through Estelle?_

"You're Gemma, then?" Poppy Astor concludes.

"Yes, that's me. Gemma Maeve Schreave."

"Oh, dad talked about you! You should have said that." Rosalind remembers. "It's _so_ nice to meet you, Gemma. I heard a lot about you."

(Is that why Illéa doesn't recognise her? Her _name_? Kind of makes sense. They only know her as Gemma, not Maeve… _Good one, Maeve. Forgot _that_._)

Poppy draws in a sharp breath. "Right. Great. You're from his dad's side, then?"

"Yes, Julian is my uncle." Time to change topic. "I like your accent; are you from Britain, too?"

"We grew up there," Rosalind beams. Her eyes are big, like those of a little puppy. "There's a whole group of people we know who grew up in Britain. It's amazing how many did. Perci, Sia, Kenzie, us two…" she trails off after throwing in more names Maeve doesn't know.

"What's with all the Brits? It's almost the only place I've never been to," she jokes.

"Grandma Agreste always said that if you want your child to grow up as a decent person, you send them to England. Only new-rich chose America."

Maeve laughs. "_I_ chose America, and _I _am not new-rich." She catches the mistake in her words just as she talks. She can see that in Rosalind's forced smile. "I get what you mean, though…" Celeste. Tessa. Kirstie. They're one big nightmare.

"You do you," Poppy insists. "If it's what you enjoy, then by all means, you should go for it."

Maeve smiles. Thank god, Poppy is a good person. She likes her. Maybe—even with her age—she's new to the Cotillion too? Maybe this is yet another friend? "Are you going to the Rose Cotillion, too?"

Rosalind sighs. "Next year. I'm still too young this year. Poppy is going, though. She goes every year."

"I am," Poppy nods. "You'll too, then? Got a date yet?" To Perci, she asks, "Has the Bachelor's Brunch happened yet?"

"It's next week," Maeve replies for him. If Poppy 'goes every year', then she won't be a debutante this year. Too bad, but it means she's not rivalry or anything. That's good, isn't it? "You're going, aren't you?"

"Probably, yes," Perci replies. He still blushes. "Maeve, have you met Ori yet? She was in our school too. The Russian doll?"

"Pardon me?" Maeve repeats. She's not (even if the name rings a bell) met her. Not in the past ten years, at least. "Who?"

"Kenzie's best friend,"a Poppy elaborates. "Were you at Noah's party yesterday? You would have met her. I think I missed Kenzie, though…"

"I didn't, unfortunately. Can you point her out for me?" Not that she actually wants to meet her. If this Ori is close with Kenzie Choi, then she's probably close to Noah too. No, thanks.

Of course, Poppy does so ("It's the girl talking to Nate and Arabella!" whom she doesn't find) and after exchanging numbers (and also finally getting Percival Santos' contact details), she heads on through the crowd, past her dear mother and her friends, and into the direction of Ori (a blonde that looks like Barbie and yes, Maeve remembers her) as pointed out. Rosalind is a lovely person, but unfortunately too young. Poppy too, even if a bit nervous. She might be a good friend in the future. On her way to Orianna Vasilieva (and Kenzie Choi, with new hair colour), that's when she catches up on Julian speaking.

(_Anyone but him, please._)

"I'm just saying, you know that Noah at least knows how to run a business. His surf club has pushed competition into closure."

"I'm aware of that, Julian," Rebecca replies, just as calm as she always does.

"Please don't tell him, but I heard he's planning to set up a second one too." He sighs. "Do look at Gemma. She has no idea on how to do business. A piece of paper doesn't mean she has any actual knowledge. I doubt she knows how to handle money at all."

"Noah learned how to handle money through mistakes in the surf club. Gemma grew up budgeting money because we both know that the American Daulton branch has no real money. She has done internships all over the planet, too. Look at her. That dress? Not haute couture. I wouldn't put it past being from some small boutique here, where everyone buys."

Is Rebecca saying that she looks cheap!? Hell she does, Maeve has seen the bill for her outfit today.

"Are you judging her based on that? Have you seen that girl growing up?"

Maeve speeds up her walk. She needs to hear no more. She's not cheap! She has style and class and has Julian even seen the whole bill? She doesn't head for Orianna (hell she would) but to the balcony where nobody could see the tears on her cheeks.

She's not cheap! She has style! She belongs here! She is Gemma Maeve Schreave, for crying out loud!

"Gemma?" someone calls out, like the kind, caring saviour. Except it's Noah and he's the last goddamn person on this planet that Maeve wants to see.

"What is it," she spats at him. She doesn't look cheap—he does, in his old shaggy beach club that's so much more established in Illéa than the heiress to literally most land in the whole goddamn country.

"Why are you here? People haven't even finished arriving…" Noah worries. "Are you alright? Do you need a doctor? You look pale…"

"I'm not pale!" she hisses. "I'm fine!" She's totally not screwing up her whole life on this god forsaken island that she kind of wants. She's totally not going to lose her inheritance over looking cheap and being cheap by sleeping with Alex fucking Langston.

"Sure…?" Noah hesitates.

Goddamn it, can't Noah shut up for once? Does he always need to be the good saviour guy? He isn't even white! Who else is watching, besides Rebecca and mum and Julian and Mary and everyone else on this island that she might care about? _Of course_, Noah Schreave is always the good guy and the hero and the one that everyone loves so much.

(Noah Schreave _has to_ be the bad guy here.)

"Shut up!" she calls out, too loud. God knows how many people turn to her. Typically Noah! He's making this happen on purpose; making it look like she's causing a scene. She's not doing anything! Absolutely nothing!

Noah frowns. "Alright…? Do you need anything, though?"

The confusion in his face is genuine, and maybe, that's actually the worst part of it. Maeve isn't the bad guy. Noah is the bad guy. She's not causing a scene either! Her reaction is totally valid and absolutely not overdramatic!

"No! Just, go away!"

His hands rise defensive. Of course, he has to pretend to be the good guy who didn't do a single thing. He steps back, almost turns around, but no—Gemma Maeve Schreave has enough. She doesn't want to deal with him here, not right now because Noah Schreave is always right and she doesn't need to deal with that right now.

"Leave me alone!" she calls out, too loud.

Gemma Maeve Schreave rushes off, through the crowd, to the door. Away from the party, to the outside to drive home and get away. As you do.

* * *

**Chapter Recap:**

After waking up at Alex Langston's house, Maeve's pride is quickly insulted by Alex not being interested in anything else but a one night stand. Anna and Daphne tease her for falling for him, which she doesn't take well either. She calls Estelle for help, whose advice summarises to 'own it'. She attempts that at Noah's formal birthday celebration, but besides Rina Klydeworth calling her Alex' newest one-night-stand, Jared being salty at her for being rich, Julian and Mary being bothered by the drama she is causing, and her meeting Poppy Astor and her sister, when Noah meets her concerned about her mood, she causes a scene.

**Next Chapter:** Maeve goes to an event to find a boyfriend, but only finds girls and people in relationships

* * *

**This chapter was brought to you by Maeve being a drama queen. It also introduces Poppy and Rina!**

**I had zero motivation editing this month, so I'm sorry for doing this to you. In other news, I've finally (in the chapters I have written but not uploaded, unsurprisingly) introduced everyone and started with the first round of dates! I'm excited! We'll have met all 13 cast members by chapter 10 (I think). I hope. Also check out the Pinterest board; a new wave of aesthetics has arrived!**

**Let me know what you think of the events of this chapter, the new characters and what you think will happen next! I hope you got lots of second-hand embarrassment!**


	9. Debutantes and (almost) Disasters

_**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**_

**VII**

_Debutantes and (almost) Disasters_

[ - - - ]

"I am not apologising to him," Maeve hisses.

This lunch with Daphne and Anna is not what she expected. She expected to spend time with the two women she likes most in this godforsaken city, but _no_, they _have _to be nightmares too. Daphne sighs, while Anna looks torn between treating Maeve's life as a soap opera and agreeing with her boss. Maybe she's about to do both. Probably.

"Gemma, please. Noah didn't do anything; you yelled at him. Be an adult; you're twenty-four years old!" her mother scolds her.

"I didn't do anything wrong!" Maeve insists. She crosses her arms and ignores her strawberry tarts as if they did something wrong. Poor tarts.

(She also lies, but details. You can't admit you're wrong if you're Gemma Maeve Schreave.)

Daphne puts on that awful motherly frown that she last had twelve years ago. "Think of your inheritance, maybe? Rebecca will know of it. She wouldn't approve."

Maeve opens her mouth, desperate for an excuse she doesn't have, but _that_ conversation between Rebecca and Julian comes back to her mind. Going by him, it's Julian who's better fit either way. She's the cheap one, going by Rebecca. "Oh, shut up!" she snaps.

Daphne freezes; who knows how she feels about being snapped at by her daughter. _Great. Now, mum's angry too. Thanks, Noah._ Maybe she should apologise? Not to Noah, of course, but to Daphne? Doesn't she understand she can't just apologise like that?

"_So_," Anna starts the obvious topic change, "what are you wearing for the Bachelor's Brunch?"

"I—" Right. The Bachelor's Brunch. She'll need an outfit and all. She needs to look decent if she wants to get her grandmother's spot on the committee. She has to. She is Gemma Maeve Schreave. I mean, obviously, she will get it, but she should look the part.

"… Yes?" Anna asks. "You?"

"I haven't decided yet." Maeve smiles a bit too much.

"We could go shopping again!" Anna suggests too enthustiastic.

Maeve frowns. "We spent enough money last time."

"Don't you want to impress the boys?" Anna teases. "You've been thinking about them more than enough," she huffs.

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not. Maybe I should ask out a girl?"

There are more than enough. Rina Klydeworth is beautiful. Poppy Astor was fun, even if a bit odd, and charming too. Sia de Rossi was one amazing and beautiful at that and—

Daphne shakes her head. "Gemma, that doesn't work." Ah, good old traditions. "Unless, of course, you want to make a political statement, but I would prefer if you spoke to the PR department first."

_Yikes_. "That was a joke," Maeve corrects. "I might check on Sia and Gabby for their outfits. Maybe we can even coordinate something."

"Did you make friends?" Daphne asks, cordial. "Sia—you are referring to Alessia de Rossi, aren't you?"

"I met her on Noah's party."

Daphne sighs. Yes, maybe she left the party without even saying hi to Noah, and maybe she ignored his request for people to help clean up, and yes, maybe Alex "Asshole" Langston wasn't the best company she could have indulged in, but does that matter?

"She's lovely, as for what I've heard. Too bad that she couldn't come."

"Yes, very unfortunate." Maeve hadn't even checked on that. Not that she would have known (given the short amount of time she spent at her cousin's place) but hey! At least she knows that Gabby is still somewhere in Asia for the Spring collection of some fancy brand. "She's lovely. Very welcoming."

"I'm glad you're making friends," Daphne admitted. "Have you tried reconnecting with your old friends from school?"

"I spoke with Perci in the Casino, if you remember."

"Oh, did he beat you?" Anna asks amused. "I heard the Elysian Tech boy lost a lot the other night."

Maeve frowns. "Griffin Vael?"

"Not Griff," Anna shakes her head, "the Elysian Tech heir. Griffin is the middle child. The more interesting one, I'd say, but the oldest kid is Leander Vael. _He _is the Elysian Tech boy." Just like she is the Schreave Real Estate girl.

"We met him briefly. He did lose."

"How much?" Anna grins.

"We don't discuss that. You know that," Daphne _kindly _reminds her.

Anna's not amused. "Where the fun, then? I spoke with Taliyah the other day, and—"

"Who's that?" Maeve asks, curious. Anna isn't that involved in the Illéan high society (obviously) but given her job, she probably has more than enough contacts? Maybe Taliyah is another one of the executive assistants of Illéa's elite?

"One of Titus' girls. She's his private secretary—so just the same as I do."

"And Titus is…?" Maeve asked. How in the world was she meant to know all these names? Sure, it rung a bell, but for all she knew, that could have been someone living in England or Fiji.

She isn't sure if Daphne's sigh is out of disappointment, or out of relief. It could be both, and Maeve isn't sure which is better. Maybe he's someone she should be considering for the Boyfriend Selection™, but Daphne isn't that well connected in Illéa. If Maeve wants to know who is who, she has to ask Noah or Mary.

(She also despises both. Figures.)

"Titus Langston is the owner of LaTV. I hope I don't need to remind you of what that is?"

Maeve curls her lips. "I know that much." And it's a long-established thing, so no way someone in their twenties runs it. Maeve isn't looking for a sugar daddy. She could _be _one. Anna rises her eyebrows, daring. _Duh_, Maeve knows that. "Largest television network in Illéa." Time to take revenge, Maeve naively decides. "Is that Taliyah your girlfriend?" she teases.

She is unphased. "No, but the LaTV heir is yours, isn't he?"

"What."

"Alex Langston, Maevy."

"Fuck you."

"Language, Gemma!" Daphne warns.

That summarises her lunch break at work. Maeve _maybe _chose to avoid Anna (and Daphne, as result) for the rest of the day. When you work closely with your mother, that's not very much a thing, but at least Daphne maintains the decency not to bring up _Alex Langston_ at work.

(Work is a good distraction from the anxiety that is the Bachelor's Brunch.)

The Bachelor's Brunch is held at Fancy Illéan Restaurant Number Twelve, meaning it's expensive, build into a penthouse and, of course, booked fully for this beautiful event. Maeve remembers seeing the blueprints for the skyscraper, so her family was probably involved in its building _somehow_. She passes Jared Kim who stands outside for no reason (except, hey, maybe he's got a crush on someone?) and ignores him purposefully. Not after Noah's birthday. She's not talking to him.

_Jackass_, she still thinks.

There's no denial, though, that Illéa's Bachelor Brunch is something else. She's not been to many society season events, so Maeve can't compare, but the skyscraper restaurant doesn't only offer a breath-taking view of the skyline of the megacity that is Illéa, but the people inside bring out the same untouchable feeling of 'this is where the world is ruled from'.

(Little did she know.)

Maeve pushes the invitation into the page's hand, missing twice. Priceless pearls and shining diamonds, tailored suits and champagne older than her grandmother fill the room behind him. These people aren't rich, they were wealthy. Maeve can't spot more than three Chanel brand names, or Prada or all these 'expensive' brands that she and Tessa and Celeste wore when they were twelve…

To these people, Prada and Chanel is middle class.

_Great_, because Maeve wears that.

"Maeve, hello." Alessia de Rossi, accompanied by an elderly woman whom Maeve recognises as Rowena Carlisle. They met at tea, once, after all. "How are you?" Her light blue eyes are as piercing as they were when they last met. A cold shiver runs down her spine.

"Good, thank you. It's nice to see you again, Mrs Carlisle."

"The pleasure is mine, Gemma. Have you greeted your grandmother yet?"

"No, I just arrived."

Her response is kind but firm. "You should. She's outdone herself again."

Rowena Carlisle is, too, on the Rose Cotillion committee. She gently pushes her to Rebecca Schreave who sits with parents of the debutantes of the Rose Cotillion, a cup of tea and the elegance of the British Queen. She wears no pearls or diamonds, no designer velvet or cashmere. She needs no such things. Her grey blouse and pencil skirt could have come from H&M, and it wouldn't have mattered. It's that aura, that subtle reminder that makes her the empress ruling over the circular table. That is what Gemma Maeve Schreave aspires to be, isn't it?

(Time to suck up to dying relatives.)

"Grandma, hey," Maeve greets her softly.

"Gemma, you've come." Rebecca rises, without a single hint of her ageing figure and brooding illness. She keeps that illusion going, at least. "You look pretty. I like what you've done with your hair." A subtle comment of displeasure in her choice of outfit. "But more importantly, your mother has said that you're settling in well at work?"

"I am," Gemma Maeve Schreave beams. That's the one thing she's doing well, at least. She's got her priorities right, doesn't she?

"And Alessia. Rowena, you were right. That necklace looks perfect on her," Rebecca continues. Sia wears a necklace whose three strands of crème-coloured pearls intertwine with another.

"Alessia is, as always, top of her classes at university. It was the least I could give her as congratulations."

Sia's smile tenses, and with her sweet Oxford accent adds, "It's nothing, really."

"Oh, don't downplay yourself, love. You've done more than most of these kids here in your life. Simeon, too. Where is he, by the way?"

Out of the nowhere, Simeon Adler popped up behind them. Maybe she should call him ninja. "Here. Good evening, Mrs Schreave. Hello, Maeve." His mistake is forgotten, maybe because he's not Rowena Carlisle's grandson and without his step-sister, would be nothing but a confident law student and handsome model.

Rowena takes a seat by Rebecca's side, once more. "Well, do go out. You did promise me to socialise, Alessia."

Sia nods. "Yes, grandma." She turns to Maeve. "We should go and look for Gabby. She should be here too, with her brother."

Maeve agrees and turns around herself, to look for the curly brown hair of Gabby Santiago. In preparation for this afternoon, she learned a total of three sentences in sign language.

(In her defence, if you also run a worldwide real estate empire, you don't have _that_ much time. She's still proud.)

There's no need to a large-scale search operation; the Santiago siblings attract enough attention on their own. Enough girls turn to the door when Juan Santiago, the A-list actor and thief of a whole generation of teenage girls' hearts, enters with Gabby Santiago in tow. Or, rather, Gabby enters with Juan as protective bodyguard. Maeve doesn't need to listen in to know that heaps of girls already talk about going to the Rose Cotillion with Juan Santiago.

(As much as she'd love to do that too, Juan Santiago is new rich.)

"Ah, that Santiago boy," Rebecca chuckles.

"Do you know him?" Maeve asks.

"We had a few chats. He's a lovely one. Not as well-mannered and versed in society as others, but that's just my humble opinion." Also she's Rebecca Schreave and Maeve would be stupid not to consider her 'humble' opinion.

"Gabby," Sia waves her over, "we're here!"

"She can't hear you," Maeve reminds her, but before saying anything more, realises that Sia's 'wave' is sign language. Juan, as helpful as he's handsome, nudges her into their direction. Maeve pulls out her phone, to greet Gabby after she gently hugs her.

_How are you? ^ _ ^_

Gabby with a smile, takes the phone. _Great! Ready for today?_

Sia speaks as she signs, "You look really pretty." She's right; it's not a miracle that Gabby is a model. Juan, following her, could do the same, though. His bowtie resembles a butterfly that compliments his sister's hair colour and dress. Talk about outfit coordination. "Shall we get something to drink before we mix with the others?" At that suggestion, Simi frowns.

"Maybe you should go to the Cotillion with Juan, and Gabby with Simi," she laughs. "No evil boys for both of you."

Sia interprets for Gabby. "That's not a bad idea," Sia speaks as Gabby signs.

Simeon eyes Juan, who returns the cold, wary glance. Maeve chuckles, and so do Sia and Gabby. _Boys._ Or, rather, _brothers_. Maeve raises her eyebrows at Sia and Gabby, all giggling, and they head out on Maeve's boyfriend hunt. Juan and Simeon, unfortunately, do a great job at scaring away any cute, somewhat rich boys, leaving Maeve, Sia and Gabby mainly among themselves. Turns out, if Simeon and Juan don't want their respective sisters in the hand of the evil gender, I also affects poor Maeve.

"I think, I'll go and get something to drink," Sia remarks eventually, signing it for Gabby, and Maeve cannot hide that she's quite happy about it. Sia leaving means Simeon leaving. Hopefully, Juan and Gabby will follow the motion and she can go and meet boys.

(It's not like she's got no shot with Juan and Simeon right now, as hot as they are. Sucks to be Maeve.)

Her plan succeeds, and Gabby and Sia disappear as fast as they appeared. She loves these two, they're cute, nice and caring, but Juan and Simeon suck at, you know, not scaring away the boys she wants to meet.

So, without the brother-bodyguards, Gemma Maeve Schreave scans the room. She's got enough of an eye to recognise a few, including Alex "Asshole" Langston and Griffin "I will beat you up" Vael. Obviously, Maeve avoids them. What else would she do—_talk_ to them?

There is, apparently, a traditional moment for the debutantes to meet the eligible bachelors, but Maeve is surrounded by giggling girls, charming and/or awkward men and she's pretty sure that nobody really cares about that anymore. She's fond of that; her company to the last debutante ball she had been at wasn't very pleasing.

(Then again, the real deal about social season are the after-parties.)

She takes a seat next to one particular, currently lonely male. Every single other is taken (or too far away for her to bother), and it's not like she doesn't think that the young man, with black hair and pale skin, doesn't look good. In fact, similar to Griffin Vael, he is athletic and could probably lift her—but he has an air of grace to him that Griffin Vael cannot claim. Even though he merely sits on one of the couches, with a glass of water in his hand, she can see that graceful aura. It reminds her of an angel.

Not the rich boy vibe, but the wealthy gentleman. How wrong she is.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asks, kindly. She dubs him Angel, for his graceful and somewhat mature, kind aura. It's an irony.

"Of course," he says, and immediately straightens a little more. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm Maeve," she introduces herself. Then, a memory of Noah's birthday comes back. "Gemma Maeve Schreave," she adds on.

Angel is unimpressed. "Angel Cassidy would be my name," he replies. Of course, Gemma Maeve Schreave giggles. "Pardon me?"

"It's just—" She breaks off, and chuckles once more, "I tend to give people nicknames if I don't know their names. I named you 'Angel'. You've got the aura of one."

Angel smiles. "How come you know how angels look like?"

"Fell from the sky, yes it did hurt," Maeve plays and laughs once more. More serious, she adds, "It's just a feeling."

"Ah, I see. Good to know I'm not talking to a ghost," he jokes.

Maeve twirls a string of her hair. "No, you're not." Her smile does freeze though. Rebecca will be a ghost soon. A cold shiver runs down her back. "What are you doing? How come, you are here?"

"A friend of mine asked me to go, to watch after another," Angel admits. "Have you seen Juan Santiago anywhere?"

"Yeah, just now. I'm here with his sister, Gabby. Do you know him?"

Angel nods. Even his nod has the grace of an angel. Maeve should ask him for tips. "He's the best friend with Mariposa Cellavos. She's a good friend of mine, and Harry."

_Ah, yes, the butterfly that's friends with Harry Potter_. Maeve totally has an idea of what he's talking about. "Are you looking for a date for the Cotillion too?" she asks, bluntly. Harry Potter can wait.

"Ah, no," Angel laughs out. "I've got a kid. Harry's fans would jump at me again if they heard I went to the Cotillion with someone else?"

Maeve doesn't (or, well, tries—god knows how good she's at acting) react to that, but damn, all hot guys in Illéa are either sluts, unobtainable A-list actors or already taken _and_ gay! Unfair! How is she meant to settle down? With one of the girls? There are enough hot girls…

"Harry's fans?" she repeats, partwise because leaving Angel now would be mean, and partwise because she's interested.

He looks a bit surprised, but explains, "Her fans. She's a model." Wait—what? Is this Harry transgender and continues to use her birth name? Not that Maeve minds, but she's confused. "Wait, I can show you her Instagram."

Maeve can't help but notice the many Instagram messages that Angel hasn't read yet, but the Instagram account (named HarryPotterGenderswapped) features a beautiful brunette.

(At least Angel isn't gay.)

"Oh, so, she's a girl," Maeve realises. "Harry is an odd name for a girl."

Angel shrugs. "She gets that a lot," he chuckles. "When we went public with our relationship, a few of her fans didn't take it very well." He puts his phone back into his pocket. "That kind of stuff."

Maeve nods, even if she feels super awkward. "How come you know Juan?" She only met him by chance at a fashion designer, after all. Or Anna set it up. Also possible, and knowing Anna, likely.

"I know Mariposa, partwise through work, and partwise through Harry. She's Juan's best friend. We hang out a lot, so I've met him a few times. I don't like to say 'we are friends' because the number of co-workers that wanted his number is… weird. But yeah. She asked me to make sure he doesn't get overrun by girls but also socializes. I'm pretty sure she wants to set him up with someone…"

Maeve visibly brightens up. "Oh, really? Anyone in particular?"

"Not sure. Knowing Mariposa, she knows far more people than I do. She's probably tried a few, too."

"Ah." Too bad that Maeve doesn't know this Mariposa. She wouldn't mind being set up with said unobtainable A-list actor. "How come she isn't here? Or did I miss her?"

Angel shakes his head. "She's probably working. The whole social season is an influx of high profile clients. She's a make-up artist."

"Oh." Maeve understands. A make-up artist, by all means, would probably not be the type to be admitted to the Bachelor's Brunch of the Rose Cotillion. To one of the few other debutante balls, she could probably buy a ticket, but the Schreaves don't even bother attending those. Obviously, Gemma Maeve Schreave doesn't either. "I'm sorry. I'm still out of the loop. I just came back home."

"Always happy to help," Angel replies. He asks about where she came from, and of course, Maeve being Maeve, she's more than happy to go on and talk about Hong Kong and New Zealand and Spain and when she's already on talking about Europe, she might as well bring up Paris and her visits to Germany.

"You've been around a lot," Angel realizes.

"I do like travelling," Maeve agrees. "Have you been around?"

Angel laughs. "You talk like the world is your neighbourhood."

"It kind of is. Travelling. It's kind of my only hobby unless you count languages."

"The only times I've been out of Illéa, on a scholarship to watch _La Bayadère_ in St. Petersburg."

"The city is beautiful!"

"I wish we had the time to see it," Angel admits. "The scholarship I went on meant that I was totally clustered in with workshops and performances to watch."

_A scholarship?_ Maeve thinks, confused. _How do you get into the Rose Cotillion Bachelor's Brunch, but need a scholarship to attend anything? How odd._

Angel Cassidy is charming, looks good and all, but if he's taken, then Maeve isn't going to waste any more time on him. He's taken and has something to do with a scholarship (_Please_, she thinks_, make him be the sponsor._) They do exchange contacts (because obviously, she wants to meet this Mariposa) and she says that she'll head on, to her friends.

On her way, she googles Angel Cassidy. Because here, you can google everyone. If it wasn't for the Estelle Mun drama, she'd google herself. Angel, though, is a ballerina at the Royal Illéan Ballet; more interesting is his father. James Cassidy is an investor, known as _Mister Luck_, who won the lottery jackpot more than once and unlike so many other winners, he didn't spend his money and became rotten poor, but made clever investments and is known as a lucky charm in the world of Illéan wealth. Because all of his money came from luck. Unlike Rebecca's hard-earned work. Yikes. New-rich of the worst kind.

_But he's also handsome_, Maeve thinks, _and kind and nice. Langston is worse._

(So, yes, in summary, despite experience, new rich can be nice.)

She walks on, vaguely around because she's not actually just yet heading for Gabby and Sia—one boy who could be the boy, she has to meet!—and looks pretty dumb while doing so. But she's Gemma Maeve Schreave. She's too rich to be dumb.

(Or so she thinks.)

Apparently, though, she's not rich enough to overheard good old Alex Langston who is, of course, day drinking with his father. Or rather, as Maeve realises when she steps close enough, fighting with his father. The two Langstons stand away from the crowd, in a corner where nobody pays them attention. Fortunately, as Maeve soon realises.

"I am not going to take some entitled rich girl to _your _stupid ball, just because you tell me to!" Alex calls out. The bottle in his hand is empty.

Titus Langston maintains perfect composure. "You will take Gemma Schreave to the Rose Cotillion."

"Why the fuck would I? She's—I just slept with her a few days ago. That's enough.."

"Good," Titus decrees. "I hope you forgot protection."

_What. The. Fuck._ Maeve doesn't even think more; she just freezes within the movement. Yes, she's on the pill. That is good, but _still_. Besides, she did talk Langston into condoms. She's pretty sure of that. She maybe was dumb by getting into his pants, but not _that _dumb. She's done sex ed. In more than one country.

"I did not!" Alex cries out, almost desperate. Compared to Titus, suddenly, his son doesn't seem that bad. Is that his tactic? Does he know she's listening in? Are they working together? No—Alex doesn't seem smart enough for that.

Titus ignores him. "Establish a relationship with the Schreaves. Gemma is new and has no idea of anything here. Be kind to her."

There could be question marks above Alex' head, and he'd look less confused. "Why would I do that?"

"I need it."

"OK Boomer, you need to come up with a better reason than 'I need it'. Don't you have enough money?"

_Yes, and I do too._ Maeve steps a bit to the side, just to make perfectly sure he won't hear her.

"Unfortunately, the Schreaves have something that money cannot acquire," he mutters grim, "as history has shown…"

Of course, they do. Human dignity, unlike Titus, an asshole.

"What—the capability of naming their children decently?" Alex spits.

Not when Gemma's mother's Cantonese name is _Meihua_—meaning beautiful flower—and her own is _Anni_—meaning girl—but that's another story and involves her dad. So nothing she intends to discuss.

"No," Titus curtly replies.

"But…?"

"That is none of your concern."

"_Excuse me?_"

"I—"

"No, fuck you." With that, Alexander Langston walks away (and Maeve quickly pulls out her phone to be the screen-addicted millennial she is) from his father, whom she expects to shout profanities anytime soon. Like father, like son, amirite?

(He doesn't, but details.)

She quickly (well, as quick as you can when you don't want anyone to notice you) moves through the room, past Griffin Vael getting stares from society, and only stops nearby the elevator. _I might as well go and get some air._ Partwise, because she really needs to call Anna, partwise because she doesn't want to run into any Langston right now.

She takes the elevator down, into the foyer of the skyscraper where she waves away a photographer. Of course, he takes a photo either way, but Gemma doesn't have the time to deal with them. She's seen a pretty café nearby.

(She can't, of course, ask Rebecca or her mum on this.)

Even before she leaves the lobby, something—someone—else catches her attention, though. Rina Klydeworth, the girl she met at Noah's party and that talked about good old Tessa Tamble, stands in front of the security guard. She's impossible to miss, in that bright yellow off-shoulder cocktail dress. Maeve has seen it before—at one of the designers Anna dragged her to. Of course, Marina Klydeworth also wears sunglasses.

(_Fuck, she looks hot_, Maeve thinks.)

"Excuse me, miss, but I need an invite to let you in," the security guard says, struggling to keep his composure.

"I invited myself," she replies as nonchalant as if she was Rebecca Schreave herself. "Parties are my job."

"That—I'm sorry, miss, that's not possible."

Rina sighs theatrically and pulls out a notebook. She scribbles something into it. "Here. I've got an invitation."

He shifts uncomfortably. "Let's see, then." He takes the notebook. Gosh, he is naive. "I can do whatever the fuck I want," he reads out, and looks up to her. Rina doesn't move an inch. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to leave if you—"

That's enough, Gemma decides and walks towards them (putting on as much confidence as she can, of course). "She's with me." _Better make friends, better make allies, better get IOUs._

"And you are?"

Fortunately, Gemma has her invitation. "Gemma Maeve Schreave. My grandmother is hosting this event. This is Marina Klydeworth. If she's not on the guest list, then it's a mistake." Before he can say any more, she walks back to the elevator; Rina follows her with a big grin.

(She forgets Anna and telling her about the Langstons.)

In the elevator, Rina chuckles, "Thanks for letting me in."

"No worries," Maeve replies. "Always happy to help friends." Because Rina—even with her connection to Alex Langston—is worth befriending. She's pretty.

They exit the elevator and rejoin the Bachelor's Brunch that looks like nothing happened in their absence (except that Alex Langston's bottle is full again, and he's with Griff, being avoided by everyone), but some eyes obviously turn to them.

One of these eyes belongs to a young blonde who approaches (and hugs Rina) them once they've entered the brunch again. She, too, looks pretty, but something about her is odd. She reminds Maeve of California, and her friends there. Tessa and Celeste, to be exact.

"Hi there!" she greets them with a smile. "It's great to see you again, Rina. You look great."

"Thanks," Rina hums back. "Nice to see you too, Vienna. Known for your _natural_ beauty, I see. I see why you are known for it."

"Mariposa did great, I know. I wish she wasn't booked for the Cotillion; it's such a shame," she beams, and turns to Maeve. "You must be Gemma Schreave. I've heard _a lot _about you. Strange what happened with Estelle, wasn't it?"

Rina draws in air. Yeah, Maeve would too. Bringing up such a sore topic in the open is impolite. _Even Maeve_ knows that, and she's not spent all her life in high society. "That," she replies with her head held high, "That would be me, yes. I feel terribly sorry for Estelle, and of course, I support her with everything I can do."

"I know, I heard it from Noah. I'm Vienna, it's nice to finally meet you."

Right, Vienna van Well. The Prime Minister's daughter. Noah's ex-girlfriend. The one that has a peacock named after her. "The pleasure is mine," Maeve replies. _Time to take revenge_. "What happened between you and Noah? I've been away so long, I haven't heard anything."

Vienna freezes. "Oh, it's a long story."

Rina laughs. "Oh, that one. I'll leave you to tell it. See you two!"

She definitely doesn't want to be present at it. Therefore, Maeve deduces, it was ugly, and all the better, she gets her revenge. Maeve gestures for Vienna to sit down, before she can pull a Rina too. "Do tell."

(As mean as bringing up Estelle was, if Vienna and Noah broke up, surely she holds hard feelings for him too?)

"It's—" Vienna waves it off. "Really, nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm just glad Kenzie isn't here."

"Kenzie? Kenzie Choi?" Maeve asks, "the eighteen years old kid?"

"She's twenty-six," Vienna replies, "even if she behaves like eighteen years old. To be honest, her advances onto Noah are overly obvious and ridiculous. It's like from a movie."

"Then I was right when I thought she was his girlfriend."

Vienna huffs. "Yet, no. They aren't a couple _yet_."

"_I see_," Maeve said with emphasis.

Vienna nodded. "Yeah." She paused. "That reminds me; is this your first Rose Cotillion?"

"I haven't been in Illéa for longer than a few weeks in the past decade, so, yeah. It is."

"Ah, then you probably haven't heard about the committee, have you?"

"Of course I have," Maeve deadpans. "My grandmother is the chairwoman."

"Yeah, she's done _amazing_ work." Vienna's emphasis on _amazing _makes her seem like a clickbait vlogger, but okay. "As much as I adore Rowena Carlisle, I doubt she'll do as well as chairwoman. However," insert obviously dramatic pause, "I hope to be able to make up that difference. You see, I have a lot of experience with organizing these events through my father. My mother doesn't really do a lot of 'first lady' work, so it falls to me _all the time_. I was wondering, could you mention that to your grandmother?"

_Ah, there we are._

"I don't know, she's been so busy with organizing it," Maeve avoids.

She doesn't give in. "I think it'd be really good. I'm happy to help her with it, to show my abilities."

"I wouldn't want to stop you from doing your best for Illéa."

(Okay, maybe Vienna is just a new-rich nobody.)

Vienna briefly frowns a little bit, but apparently gives in. Fortunately—Maeve is not interested to deal with this. "That's—I see. Oh, look, there—Orianna. Have you met her yet? She's lovely. We should go and say hello, or whatever the chat says."

(There's this mysterious chat again; infuriating!)

Before Maeve can even think 'hi, new city, who dis', Vienna grabs her hand and pulls her towards the bar (where Maeve can't spot Sia or Gabby, oops), heading towards yet another blonde—one that she recognizes: the Barbie.

"Ori! Hey, we haven't seen each other in ages!" Vienna white girl-greets Orianna. "Gemma, this is Orianna Vasilieva."

Ori smiles. "Hello, nice to meet you." Insert generic greeting.

Orianna Vasilieva is blonde, with blue eyes and porcelain skin. Her eyes are large, her lips are pink and honestly, Maeve wouldn't put it past her to pull a hot pink outfit. She doesn't (instead, it's leggings and a blue top which despite the fact that she could be in a gym, looks damn elegant and Maeve is _jealous_) but that doesn't mean she couldn't.

It's an… interesting appearance, to say the least.

"She's an influencer—one of Illéa's best, actually."

Orianna waves it off. "I just do some photography and lifestyle, it's nothing, Vienna."

_I'm a CEO-in-training, beat that._ "If it's what you enjoy, then it's enough." Totally not stolen from Pinterest, but whatever.

"Seriously, though, she's amazing. A real socialite."

"There are lots of socialites, Vienna. You are one. Rina Klydeworth, too. Even Poppy, in some ways."

That reminds Maeve. "Do you know what happened to Rina's invitation? I was out for fresh air, and she didn't have one, but tried to get in…"

"Easy," Vienna replies, and she laughs, "she probably forgot it, again. She's at every single party, so most security guards know her and let her in. How did she end up getting in?"

"I let her in," Maeve explains. "I told the guard that if she wasn't on the guest list, it had to be a mistake."

"That _would_ be. The Bachelor's Brunch isn't a real Bachelor's Brunch without Rina Klydeworth," Orianna agrees.

"It's not a real 'Bachelor's Brunch' by definition anymore, though," Vienna remembers. "The Vienna Opera Ball handles it _so_ different."

"It's Illéa's unique charm," Orianna insists. "How was Vienna, by the way?"

"Lovely as always," Vienna replies.

"Is your family from Austria?" Maeve wonders.

Vienna shakes her head, "No. My mother just really loves the city, hence my name, and she has many friends there, so we both visit a lot."

"Travelling is very nice," Maeve agrees.

"Oh, no! Nonono! _Il y a_—there is nothing as pretty as Paris _de nuit_." Orianna laughs, "I'm sorry. My grandfather was French, so I go there all the time to meet family. And my father Russian, so I understand you, Gemma."

Maeve chuckles, "Ah, yes, the family visits. I'm glad I spend a year in Hong Kong, or my grandmother would be onto me again…"

"Rebecca?" Vienna asks, confused.

"No. On my mother's side." That should be obvious; the Schreaves have been a household name in Illéa since its foundation.

Orianna nods, almost as if she knows. Maybe, even with that face that almost certainly has been plastic surgery-ed, she's got a brain for society workings. Of course, she can't say that. There are enough scandals attached to her name. Ridiculous.

"I do agree," Orianna remarks, "it's a little sad that the Bachelor's Brunch has become nothing more than another glorified party. It takes away the focus of the debutantes, and this is meant to be their big day."

(Maybe Maeve likes her after all.)

"Are the guests not relatives of the debutantes?"

Orianna looks around. "There are a few that aren't. I am not. Vienna isn't. Rina isn't. Poppy isn't either. I suppose Perci, Angel, and Alex and Griff, have a reason to be here, but the latter, I can't imagine agreeing to being someone's date."

"To be fair," Vienna remarks, "Alex probably is here because his father insists, and Griff came by as support."

"That's true. Is Noah here?" Orianna wonders, "Have you seen him, Gemma?"

Maeve frowns. Vienna does too—probably because she hasn't been asked about him. "No," she replies, "I can't really imagine him to be here, to be honest." He always despised balls and the events his family required him to attend.

"You'd expect Julian to drag him here," Orianna points out.

Vienna huffs, "To be fair, he has been in a relationship—"

"You broke up a while ago, didn't you?" Maeve bluntly reminds her, "before I came back, at least."

"Yes, but—would you want a date that just recently broke up with someone?"

"Unless you have an acceptable boyfriend, isn't this more networking than actual courting? We're in the twenty-first century." That, at least, was the deal with the debutante balls in America she had been to.

Orianna gives her just a little more of a smile, and laughs, "That's true. Plus, Noah was very kind when we went to the Rose Cotillion together. He even survived my dad!"

If looks could kill, Vienna would have a full floor of witnesses for Orianna's death. Given the girls' age, the typical debutante age for girls of good standing and the fact that she hadn't heard of Noah and Vienna until now makes Maeve assume that they hadn't been dating then.

"He was, yes," Vienna bitterly agrees.

"When did you make your debut?" Maeve wonders.

"At twenty, five years ago," Orianna replies, "I wanted to before, but my father… He was a bit concerned."

"Aren't they all?" Vienna laughs.

Obviously, Maeve doesn't. She isn't going to talk about this though—out of all things possible, she will never ever bring up _this_ topic. Instead, she turns to Orianna whom she still cannot place. Is she a brainless daughter of a new-rich investor whose appearance didn't calculate the consequences? Or does she come from good family and good upbringing, and she is missing something?

(Not that Maeve isn't exactly that.)

"What does your father do?" Maeve wonders out loud.

"Ah, just boring business," Orianna replies, "I've never really been involved into it."

"How about your mother?"

"She's a politician, the Minister of Foreign Affairs in my father's cabinet," Vienna replies for her. "Cecilia Vasilieva-Sinclair, you must have heard about her? She was the daughter of a former French ambassador, whose family can be traced back to French nobility."

_Ah, then she must be of good family._

Orianna blushes again, and she could come straight from a movie with it. "You're extravagating, with the way you talk."

"It's the truth," Vienna reminds her, "I suppose, I'm just amazed by the family history of some of my friends. Talking about friends—do you know why Kenzie isn't here, today?"

Orianna shifts uncomfortably. "Oh uhm, I believe she has work…? I wouldn't know."

"Oh, come on. You're her best friend!"

"Even if she doesn't, she probably wouldn't be at the Bachelor's Brunch, because she's made her debut long ago."

"So did we, and still, we are here."

She looks even more uncomfortable. "Yes, but Kenzie isn't very fond of society gatherings…"

"She's the heiress of one of the largest holiday empires in the world. It's a bit her duty, isn't it?" Vienna points out. She's got a point. "She has to represent her family, especially when her father isn't in Illéa."

"Illéa isn't the world!" Orianna insists, "and nobody is forcing Kenzie to be here, if she doesn't want to be here. You didn't attend the Cotillion immediately when you were old enough."

Vienna huffs, "That was politics. Just admit it, she's with her peasant friends because she thinks they are better than we. Her real friends."

_Yikes_, Maeve thinks—totally not because she has enough friends whom she should classify as 'peasants' but because it sounds like Kenzie is playing favourites.

"You were a 'peasant' until your dad was elected," Orianna defends, "and if you'd like to continue to insult Kenzie, you're free to do that elsewhere. She's my friend, and I know that she's not here because she doesn't want to. That is _fine_. Now, if you excuse me, I have other people to talk to—who appreciate me and my friends." With that, Orianna turns around on her heels, and marches off.

(She's got balls, to say the least.)

Maeve isn't staying in this awkwardness, "I think I gotta head on too. Still need to find a date, don't I?" she says with an uncomfortable laugh.

She moves away, as fast as she can, away into the crowd of strangers and faces she technically should know but doesn't. She doesn't stop moving until she's sure that Vienna didn't follow her (for which she checks carefully).

"Oh, Maeve! Hey!" Poppy, the redhead from Noah's birthday, calls out. She stands at one of the windows with a young gentleman whom Maeve recognises to be Perci Santos, the odd casino guy. "How are you doing?"

"Great," Maeve lies, "how are you doing?"

"Awesome. Thank you. Do you a date yet?"

"I barely even talked to any of the guys here."

"Why that?" Perci wonders. He smiles to her. "If I were them, I would have spoken to you immediately."

"You had the chance," Maeve teases, "where have you been?"

"I think, that's my fault," Poppy laughs, "I've been keeping him away. We've been talking about how he's trying to get his hands on the destroyed Darth Vader helmet from Star Wars. He collects that stuff. Such a nerd."

"Your YouTube channel is half-dedicated to being a nerd!"

"Yes, and yet, I don't spend god-knows-how-much-money on Darth Vader helmets."

"Must I remind you of the countless amount of make-up in your house? Oh, and the life-sized Iron Man replica?"

"It's my brand?" Poppy laughs, "You have casinos, I have a YouTube channel. Nobody is reprimanding you for your blackjack table."

"Are you two a couple?" Maeve asks out-of-the-blue. Is this friendly bullying or flirting?

"No," Poppy replies, laughing, "never. Just childhood friends, met when we lived in Britain." Oh, that's new. Someone from Abroad, too? "Sorry. We do this a lot."

"When we have time," Perci adds on. "Some of us have jobs."

"Yeah, let's not talk about Langston."

_Good to know_. "Right, you were in that chat too."

"Bad life choices," Poppy agrees, "either way. Perci, you should go with Maeve to the Cotillion."

"No!" he cries out.

"Excuse me?!" Maeve spits out, laughing. Inside, she's hurt. He wouldn't need to straight cry out a 'no'.

"Oh, wait, it's not like that—I didn't mean to—I'm—_Poppy_!"

"He doesn't mean it bad," Poppy translates, "he just gets awkward whenever anyone brings up that. Bad parenting, or something."

"Grandma wasn't a bad—"

Poppy raises her eyebrow, and silences him with that. She pulls her hair around. Just like the last time, Maeve met them, she looks beautiful. Not as 'new rich blonde' as Vienna does, but still modern and fashionable.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind but—" Perci breaks off. Maeve wouldn't either—if he stopped being that odd and awkward. If he stopped being shy around her, he'd be a great date.

"But?" Maeve finds herself asking.

"I mean, I wouldn't mind."

She smiles. He's kind, has good contacts and sweet. Definitely needs to get over that issue with his shyness, but maybe she can work on him. "Then why not? Would you like to be my date for the Cotillion?"

Maeve notices a proud smile on Poppy's face. She's matchmaking them, isn't she? Either way, whatever she's planning, Perci nods. "It'd be a pleasure to be in the company of such a lovely lady."

Of course, Maeve has to blush. Maybe even her heart flutters a bit—who wouldn't feel like this if you had someone like Perci call you that? That grin on her face grows. It's good to be appreciated. "Great!"

"Are you here alone?" Poppy wonders. "With your grandmother, maybe?"

"No—" Maeve half-smiles, "I came with Gabby Santiago and Sia de Rossi, but I kind of lost them. I can text them though; I kind of lost them."

"Definitely do," Poppy encourages her, "we can spend the rest of the day together! I haven't seen Gabby in ages, too."

Maeve nods and pulls out her phone, and maybe—just maybe—makes an effort to stay by Perci's side for the rest of the day. She's here to find a boyfriend, after all, and he is definitely a contender.

(Gemma Maeve Schreave enjoys that afternoon, at least.)

[ - - - ]

_**/ Rose Cotillion Support Group**_

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): i am SO sorry for losing you guys, I just got pulled between so many people. where are you?

**Gabby** (GabbyCantHearYou): It's fine! We're on the rooftop terrace!

**Gabby** (GabbyCantHearYou): We actually tried to leave you on purpose, because Juan/Simi kept scaring off boys. Did you find someone?

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): yup, perci santos

**Gabby **(GabbyCantHearYou): Awesome! Bring him here! Sia and I ended up agreeing that I'll go with Simi since we know another from some work + he knows sign language, and she'll go with Juan, because she's not comfy with going with a de facto stranger, so TIME TO DRESS HUNT! :D :D

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): that's great! i'm so glad you both found someone you're happy with! poppy astor is with us too, will bring her too

**Gabby** (GabbyCantHearYou): Ooh, yes! I have to say hi to her! Need her advice on my outfit

[ - - - ]

**Chapter Summary:** Daphne is displeased by Maeve's behaviour at Noah's party, and Anna continues her friendly bullying of Maeve. She attends the Cotillion Brunch with Gabby and Sia, though, suggesting that they should go with the respective other's brother when Juan and Simeon scare away all possible partners. She meets Angel, a ballet dancer dating a model, and while liking him, struggles with judging him by his looks. After overhearing Alex fight with his father, who wants him to ask out Maeve for ominous reasons, she leaves for a moment, meeting Rina. Rina leads her to meet Vienna van Well, Noah's ex-girlfriend, who is quite pushy in terms of trying to use Maeve to get into Rebecca's graces. Orianna, Kenzie's and Noah's Barbie-esque friend, joins them and when Vienna begins to backmouth Kenzie, defends her. Maeve leaves and meets Poppy, who suggests that she should go to the Cotillion with Perci. After a moment of shyness, he agrees.

**Next Chapter:** Perci is a darling Maeve doesn't deserve.

[ - - - ]

_**Author's Note**_

**Rina's scene came from the Discord (from French…? Sounds like a French thing? It's been ages), and I loved it, so it had to be included. I love you all for giving me these crazy ideas. ****This chapter, I'm quite proud of, although I couldn't pinpoint why. We're nearly done with introducing all Selected (three left, I believe?), and they'll come soon (sorry Moon I love u).**

**Who do you think will join the committee? What do you think of Angel and his child? Vienna and her personality? Orianna? What do you think will happen at the Cotillion? **

**Sorry for the delay; the uni year literally started today and I got winded up in study and what not. ****Someone PLEASE give me a chapter name, I can't come up with anything and I need sleep.**

**Edit: Thanks to Soph for helping me with the chapter title! It's officially "Debutante and (almost) Disasters"; she suggested it without the (almost) bit, which I added. :)**


	10. 2020 April Fools

**Helluh everyone! UWU ****J** **J****Hope you like this! :D Pls leave lots of likes, comments and follow me, my Instagram is juansantiagofangirl123205xoxox, please follow me!**

* * *

An Unexpected Meeting

My name is Nev, and I'm 14 years old. I have brown hair with some natural pink strands which is really rare but I inherited it from my mother before she abandoned me and my father and my three brothers who all hate me because I remind them of her. I have blue eyes with silver sparkes, and am tall, thin but fit. I don't work out or wear leggings like most girls in my class because I find that super superficial and boring, I'm happy the way I a,m. My hobbies are singing, horse riding, reading, shooting bows, and I love to write poetry and novels. I'm also a good singer, despite never taking lessons, but I'm too shy to sing in front of everyone. I'm beautiful, but nobody notices that and I don't believe it. I'm pretty nerdy, and nobody wants to hang out with the nerds. Also, I am very shy and very lonely. I love fanfictions, but everyone laughs at me for that. I am av ry good riter.

It was a normal day, and I was avoiding Jessica and her friends (or followers like I called them) on my way out of AP English. They had spent their day laughing at my clothes. Just because I couldn't afford their fancy Hollister and what not. I don't need to waste money like that.

I was walking down the halls to the street, to walk home because money was tight and we couldn't afford public transport. I passed Jessica and her friends and they bullied me like everyday, so I ran out crying. I ran down the street to the beach where I hide behind a palm tree, until JUAN SANTIAGO appears in front of me and helps me up.

He smiles. "Hey beautiful. Why are you crying? What's your name?"

"Nevaeh Brohkln Diamnd Starlight," I stutter. "Oh my god, you're Juan Santiago!"

He kisses me.

To be continued!

* * *

_**Unread Reviews (1)**_

**Merry Cap **_writes:_ Hello! Welcome to the fandom! I love to see new people! I'll just give you a little bit critique; Illéa doesn't have AP systems (it's not a thing here). If someone's good enough to do a subject at extended level, then you do it with a higher year group. Also, most beaches don't have trees on them, because they're artificial and nothing could actually grow there. All the palm trees you can find on photos are in sepperate earth and very high maintainance. I do look forward to hearing why Juan would ever do that, given that he's pretty known for a small social circle and not putting a lot of that out there. I suspect it might be a mistake, given that Juan is 12 years older than your protagonist? As for your writing, I would suggest to cut out the introduction, or cut it down, to preserve some mystery. Maybe also write out what Jessica does, exactly? J Go on! Looking forward to more!

**SuuperNevaeh123205** _replies:_ Thanks! I didn't know that! I'll say that she does classes on Senior level then!

[click to see more comments]

* * *

**Hello yes this is 100% canon, thanks Pocket for this incredible idea.**


	11. Roses to her Grave

**_CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS_**

**_VIII_**

_Roses to her grave_

* * *

The sun's light dances through the glass roof of the Illéa Palace. It reminds of the fairy tales, Maeve read when she was young. She wouldn't be surprised if she found fairies in here. The golden stairs towards the roof of the Grand Hall look like the gate to the fay world. She remembers the few times when little Gemma was allowed to run up, towards the top where she felt like the queen of this palace—and her father's frightened face.

Rebecca has gone to her office, to review the final preparations for the Cotillion. Her brunch with Maeve and her mother went well, or so Maeve thinks. They discussed, like the gossipy women they were, the development of the real estate market in China.

Daphne has left to finish work, leaving Maeve alone to wait for Anna to arrive with an important package. Of course, she could rest in one of the lounges, but her childhood fascination with the Grand Hall and the beautiful, priceless architecture pulls her back here.

(They totally wouldn't be late, at this rate.)

Her steps echo as she walks past the iron spiral staircase, past the pillars decorated with flowers and gold, towards the glassine tree mural. The stone is polished, as if Rebecca actually let the cleaners enter this room, and mirrors in the stone. If this was a fantasy adventure, then this would be where King Arthur's sword is hidden.

But it isn't. It's just the Illéa Palace and its magical ability to avoid dust.

The branches of the tree cover the whole wall. It's detailed; almost as if it's a real tree with a real, wobbly surface. As a child, Maeve was never allowed to touch it—adults feared for the children to break it—and yet, even now as adult, she can't bring herself to feel it. She traces the tree that covers the rainbow behind it, but she doesn't touch it. How would the glass feel? It's too sacred to be touched.

"You've always been fascinated with this, haven't you?" Rebecca remarks.

"It could come straight out of a fairy tale," she replies.

Gently and slow, as if she had all time in the world, Rebecca steps by her side. She looks older, now, but just as wise. She places her thin, worn out hand onto the brown glass. Maeve can't—out of respect for her grandmother.

(This palace, once, was all she had, and she nearly lost it too.)

"It's not a tree, Gemma," she says, "these are roots, bathing in light."

She recalls her grandmother saying that all the time when she and Noah had been little children. Noah, always the better one, insisted that it had to be a tree, because if these were roots, then there would be a tree somewhere. Of course, Noah never said that. Nobody ever questioned Rebecca Schreave. Not anymore.

"Then where's the tree?" she muses, now.

"Do you know of Yggdrasil, the world tree, in Norse cosmology?"

She's heard of it, in books and media alike. "A bit, why?"

"It's the connection between worlds," Rebecca explains. "I like to think that it's the same for this one. The roots are in our world. They are material—matter—but it's not the only thing, the universe consists of. I believe, energy and information are also very important to physics, isn't it? They are the pillars." She chuckles. "I am, by all means, no professor of physics. My, I was born before neutron and antimatter was discovered, wasn't I? It's been so long…"

"I didn't know you liked physics that much." To Maeve, only the neutron means something, and even that is a faint memory now. High school was _so_ long ago.

(And yet, not as long ago as Rebecca's birth.)

"If you are dying, you find yourself wondering how much is out there."

"Do you?" Maeve mutters, too quiet for her to hear.

"It's odd. I keep thinking of how much I will miss, when I've lived through so many things," she remarks. "I never thought of them, until now. Did you know, the Big Bang was only found in the _thirties_? Today, it's such common knowledge, but it's not even been hundred years."

Maeve nods. _What do you say to that? _The steps on which they stand—those that lead to the stained glass mosaic—could very well be where a throne would be placed. When Gregory Illéa built Illéa, he did plan to crown himself King, but she knows how that turned out.

"Now, Gemma, you've always been fond of this hall, have you not?"

Maeve looks around, to the hall in all its grandeur. "Yes, I have. I was always sad that we couldn't come that often."

"When you were children, you and Noah were rather wild," Rebecca teases.

"Yes, that's true, but why not hold events here? Why do you lock away this palace away from the world, when it's the most beautiful of all? It's the pinnacle of what you've build. It's everything. Why rent the White Rose for the Cotillion, when it could be here?"

Rebecca shakes her head. "It isn't. It's the only thing I never build, only kept and guarded. You, my dear, must do that too."

"I understand that, but why do you so rarely invite people here? Why don't we celebrate here—why do we never host events here?"

She places her hand on her shoulder. "Oh, there are more important things than these balls and functions to be held here, Gemma. _Oculos qui vult disco, videbit_. The eye willing to learn will see."

(_That doesn't answer anything_, _grandma_.)

With that, she leaves Maeve, confused more than she was before. She looks to the roots one more time, and the reflection on the floor, where she stands. There—where she believed the trunk to be—is something that the actual image doesn't have; the outline of an eye. In the mirror, it merely looks like the pattern of the brown roots, but—and she makes sure to check it—it doesn't come from there. It almost looks like an eye. Probably some scratches in the stone.

(Odd that she never noticed it before.)

Carefully, Maeve steps down the stairs, away from the world tree. Her phone beeps twice, but she takes a moment to enjoy the Grand Hall once more. With all these Rose Cotillion rehearsals in the last week and work, she hasn't had much time for herself. Whatever that means, she breathes in the strange nostalgic smell of the Illéa Palace and its secrets.

Anna should arrive any moment.

"Someday, I'll throw a party here," Maeve decides, "even if it's just for a few people. You can 'guard' and 'use' something at the same time."

She sits down, in the lounge closest to the grand entrance hall where Anna should see her once she finally arrives. They aren't going to be late (Maeve tells herself that) but that doesn't mean that she wouldn't mind heading to the White Rose as soon as she can. She's been there—for the rehearsals—and she can imagine the security for the high-profile guests present tonight.

Maybe it was Anna who messaged?

(It wasn't, but that wasn't bad.)

* * *

**_/ Private Messages with Percival Santos_** (RoundTableRoulette)

**Perci **(RoundTableRoulette): Enchante! Hope you slept well. Poppy said that girls are always stressed on the day of the Cotillion, but don't worry! You look beautiful without fancy dresses, make up and hairdos!

**Perci **(RoundTableRoulette): Let me know if I can help anyhow!

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): awww thank you! i'm waiting for someone to bring something, but then we're on our way, hopefully not too late!

**Perci** (RoundTableRoulette): The Cotillion should never start without you! I will stop them!

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): haha i'll quote you on that.

* * *

(A keeper.)

Opening her phone to read that one message turns into reading through other group chats, from abroad and alike, scrolling through Instagram and reading the news; time flies and Anna arrives, formally announced by one of the few staff members that Rebecca Schreave employs.

"Miss Lee has arrived and will be here any moment. Miss Schreave has also expressed interest in joining you for a moment."

Maeve thanks him and greets Anna with a hug. She can't miss that Anna is a bit out of breath. At least she hurried.

"Sorry for being late, Maevy," she says, "the traffic was ridiculous. We probably want to hurry, if you don't want to pull an Alex Langston and fly to the venue."

She ignores her. "Do you have it?"

Anna nods, and hands her an unmarked paper bag. Of course, she opens it immediately and the b[lack, elegant box in it too. Maeve sits down again, and opens the box. It comes from a jeweller that Gabby recommended. A little too expensive for Maeve's taste, but she insisted that this was a quality matter.

_Besides, I'm Gemma Maeve Schreave. Wasting money, like, this is my job_, she reasoned.

Inside the box is a pendant, hung by a necklace. When bringing the idea up to the jeweller, she had thought of a Harry Potter time turner, and the necklace still reminds of it; two rings are connected but still can be spun, and central to it is a marble; the spiral is firm enough so she can't lose it, but it isn't actually attached to it; she wouldn't want to risk that. The two rings are embodied with small diamonds (lower carats, she wasn't going to go too expensive), reminiscent of stars.

"This is awfully cute," Anna remarks to it. "Using a marble you got from him fifteen years ago? Damn! Where did that come from? Pinterest?"

"I was worried it'd be too large," Maeve replies, "but it'll look good, I think."

"You did right in choosing the longer necklace."

Rebecca arrives and takes a curious look. "Is that what you were waiting for?"

"Yeah. Perci gave me this marble in elementary school, when I won a nearly impossible bet."

She smiles a little too much, "That is a very lovely idea, dear. How are you, Miss Lee?"

Anna's face is as awkward as it can get if you know your bosses' boss is dying, but also here, and you happen to be pretty close to her granddaughter. She probably regrets working for the Scheaves by now. "Good, thanks, miss."

Rebecca pulls a grandma. A terrifying idea. "You should check in on Taliyah Langston, Miss Lee. You would be a lovely couple."[

Anna is dumbfounded. "What."

"Who?"

"Taliyah Langston, the secretary to Titus," Rebecca explains. "Miss Lee here and Taliyah are good friends, but me and a few friends of mine are confident that there could—should—be more."

"Uhm…. Can I hand in my two-weeks-notice?" Anna blushes.

Thank god that Rebecca doesn't travel with them to the venue. Otherwise, Maeve would fear Anna would actually hand in her resignation.

"Of course, it's just a joke," Rebecca insists, but Maeve isn't sure if matchmaking isn't her secret hoppy. It, apparently, is when it comes to Maeve.

* * *

The White Rose is one of, if not the most, recognised and luxurious hotels in Illéa. It's also one of the oldest buildings, only beaten by the Illéa Palace. It's among most expensive estate in the city, being modelled after European palaces. Its garden is among the largest in the city, and filled with roses. Maeve is pretty sure that some version of Cinderella was filmed here.

Fortunately, she's not the last to arrive, but that means that she has to wait with the other high-profile debutantes in line for security. She recognises a few socialites and personalities, not yet dressed into the white debutante gowns they will don later. Once past security, she, with Anna in tow, heads up the staircases whose railings are decorated with red roses.

"Seriously," Anna comments on their way, "where do they get all these roses from? Illéa can't have that many. There's not enough space."

_Everything_ is decorated with wine red roses. Even the chandelier, hanging metres above her, is, and she cannot imagine that it's possible to get that high. Bouquets adorns the hallways, towards the designated backstage area where more girls are chatting with another. They'll carry some, too.

Debutante balls are a ridiculous, archaic tradition, but at least, Rebecca's committee knows how to make them _look_ good.

"Isn't this a hotel?" she hears one girl wonder.

"Not originally," she replies to the girl, "it used to be one of the buildings Gregory Illéa built when he completed the island. He was fond of displays of wealth, to say the least. It was part of his plan to declare himself King."

They listen in. "Oh, that's interesting. Illéa is a republic though, isn't it?"

"History nerd?" another debutante asks with French accent.

"Family history," Maeve replies, and passes on. The Illéa-Schreave family tree is a complicated one (for so many more reasons that people know officially) but the only thing that matters now is that she is the Schreave heiress—even if they nowadays don't own this building anymore. The Chois bought it, many years ago, and turned it into the luxury hotel it is now. She sits down where she recognises her dress and other jewellery.

"Since you left it up to me to hire a stylist, I hired Mariposa Cellavos for make-up and Tracey Cunningham for your hair. Had to fly her over, but nobody complained, so…" Anna notes.

(Maeve is about to, but details.)

Fortunately (because elsewise, she'd fall asleep which given the duration of the Cotillion is a good idea, but since when does Maeve have good ideas?), she's brought along a book, the first of the _Bloodhunters_ series, by Marianne Malrios. She changes, and leans back while her hairstylist does her work. They arrived in between, probably not through the long cue of debutantes waiting to get in.

After Maeve's hair is styled into a hairstyle she totally didn't steal from Pinterest for the ball, Maeve meets Mariposa Cevallos. She comes in casually, in t-shirt and jeans, contrasting the gowns and suits Maeve sees anywhere else. Even Anna wears a pants suit.

"Hi there!" she greets Maeve. She goes straight to the point, discussing with her what kind of makeup she is looking for, and first, Maeve expects the rest of the styling to go that way, but no—she's wrong. Mariposa Cevallos—she remembers Vienna and Angel mentioning her—keeps on talking, even when she starts working. "I swear, I don't know what to think about this," she says. At first, Maeve thinks it's directed to Anna, but she has left already for the day.

"About what?" Maeve asks, almost concerned, when she realises it's directed to her.

"I don't get how Juan was talked into coming here. Juan Santiago—you know him, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do," Maeve frowns.

"Like, yes, it doesn't make sense. Look down. Juan isn't the type to just go out with some girl—even if Gabby and that girl—Alessia, I think?—made some sort of deal because Gabby's apparently going with her brother or something. He hasn't told me either, so there's something going on, but he's been too busy with the contracts for that show too. I mean, like, yes, I want to set him up with someone, but _tell me_!" She sighs. "What do you think?"

She's barely finished foundation, so obviously, Maeve doesn't look like one of the beautiful ladies you see on the Cotillion photos.

"It looks nice…?"

"Not the make-up."

"About what, then?"

"The rumour that Juan is dating Alessia de Rossi. Impossible, I'd say. I would know, but everyone thinks so, because Gabby Santiago could have gotten a date that's, you know, more _engaged_ than Simeon Adler—I never heard of him, even if he's a model. I never met him! If he wasn't in the chat, I wouldn't even think him to be anyone!"

"Oh."

"Have you not heard of the rumours?" she asks, surprised. "What kind of people do you hang out with that you missed that? Everyone is talking about it."

_My friends are Gabby and Sia. And I'm pretty sure that was my idea, even if it was a joke._

"From what I know, Gabby and Sia both—"

She interrupts. "Oh, do you know them? Alessia? She's called Sia? Great, I keep thinking I hear Alex."

"Yes. They're my friends."

"Oooh, right! Juan mentioned meeting you at the designer's when Gabby was looking for dresses!"

"I am pretty sure they agreed to go with each other's brother to the ball because Sia, Juan and Simeon were worried about the girls going to the ball with strangers."

Mariposa frowns in disappointment. "That sounds like Juan," she agrees though. "He's way too protective of Gabby. She's an adult and can take care of herself! Oh well. How did you meet Sia? Do you know how she has been hiding away from everyone for a _whole_ year?"

"At my cousin's birthday party. I think she's quite busy studying. She had to leave the last rehearsal for the Cotillion early because she had work for her internship."

"Ah, that's true," Mariposa nods. "Good to know that Rina's gossip was wrong for once. I didn't think that was possible, to be honest. I was worried he didn't tell me…"

Mariposa gently pushes her face up. She's good—one of the best artists that Maeve has hired and back in California, she used to spend _so much_ money on them with Celeste and Tessa—but that doesn't mean that she can't shake off the thought that technically, she could have done this on her own.

"How about you?" she moves on. "I haven't seen you a lot at the Goldfinger. Don't like partying?"

"I do, but—" It's just never happened. Plus, Alex Langston. And work. "I do have a lot at work, I guess."

Mariposa laughs. It's not that bell-like beautiful one other girls here have, but it's a genuine, happy one. "I like people who work hard. That's cool. Look to the left. You're working in the family business, aren't you?"

"Yes," Maeve nods.

"Real estate," she concludes, and laughs, "not my thing. I like arts."

"I've never been an artsy person. I tried, and failed. The only thing I can do is cook." Which isn't a good hobby if your mother employs a professional cook.

"Sounds like a good hobby to me," Mariposa replies. "Do you surf too, like Noah?"

"I've tried before, but it's not my thing." She's not done any sport for the past year. Being a teacher was awfully time consuming, even if she was just an assistant for English. "I used to do tramping when I lived in Wellington, but that's it."

"Tramping?" Mariposa repeats. "Oh, I love hiking, but there's so little space for that here, isn't there? The best track's on Dominica, and that's a literal amusement park…"

"You can hike through shopping centers?" Maeve suggests, laughing.

"That's why I moved to surfing. I always wanted to, and finally, I started. You should try it, it's fun and once you manage to stay on the board, you feel really accomplished. And it makes for good Instagram posts. Also, the community is great. Ori, Kenzie and Noah are at the beach all the time, and the rest of the chat, too. By the way, do you know Angel? Angel Cassidy? Mister Luck's son?" She looks around.

"I met him, why?"

"The ballet he's in is performing today. The opening show. We're friends. I think he should be around. I wonder if I can say hi before the performance starts. I have another client, and I haven't seen him in ages. We last chatted at Noah's birthday."

That's not ages.

"I don't think the performance will start that early," Maeve replies. "There's the entry procession and speeches, first. You could sneak into their dressing room," she suggests.

Mariposa smiles, "Ah, right. The fancy progression. I forgot. Of course. You know, I was wondering—I spoke with Vienna van Well, and it reminded me of the time my father performed on the Vienna Opera Ball. Do you know that one? I heard that it's the big event in the end of the reason. If the Rose Cotillion is the beginning of Illéan season, why is it that it's in the beginning?"

Maeve shrugs, "I don't know."

"Don't move," Mariposa reminds her, "I thought that maybe, it's because you have to let the best debut first, and have a big fancy start, but isn't it usually 'safe the best for the last' style? And why 'cotillion' instead of ball? Why so fancy?"

"Gregory Illéa had French ancestry and he prided himself into it," Maeve remembers, "so maybe that. He was an eccentric man," and more, but they don't discuss that, "maybe he wanted to be different? I don't think he knew a word French though. It's not—"

"Don't you debutante have to learn these things?"

"Apparently not." Maeve looks down (until Mariposa moves her head up again) to her closed book. She doesn't exactly have any idea of Illéan social season. _But that's alright_, she tells herself, because she's going to the ball with Perci Santos, who isn't only kind and charming, but from a good family _and_ with own success! Everything will be perfect, and then she can go on to visit other events as mere guest and somehow go on with her life. This is her home and this is fine.

Mariposa takes a step back to take a look at Maeve and then, she smiles. "Done." She hands her a hand mirror. "What do you think?"

Despite the tension in her stomach, Maeve smiles. "It looks great! Thank you!" She looks to Mariposa, who looks like she's expecting more. "Has Anna done the payment with you already, or how does that work?" she asks, hoping that it was that what Mariposa waited for. She looks great, yes, but she's got a social debut to worry about. Her last attendances to social events weren't exactly good.

"Ah, yeah, she has. No worries. If that's all, then do have fun at the Cotillion. You look great!"

Maeve objectively does, but that doesn't mean that she has anyhow a good track record with Illéan events. She leans back, wonders if Noah will be here (she didn't see him at the brunch, so probably not as a date) until phone beeps. It's Perci, who just arrived. Men need so much less time to prepare and Maeve is _jealous_.

(Not just of that, but details.)

It's not that Maeve can't run in heels or that she's worried about destroying her hairdo, but she doesn't hurry with meeting Perci at one of the staircases. It's to make a powerful, elegant entrance, she reasons with herself, while passing through to the tunnel of red roses (talk about extra) into the ball room. The whole entrance room—where she is going to need to be for photos later—has its ceiling covered in roses too.

Why is Illéa so out of this world?

She passes by the banquet and the little snacks (almost taking one of the cupcakes with rose topping but no, she wears lipstick), past chatting girls with their dates and towards Perci Santos who speaks with a girl in their age. Maeve's heart stops for a moment.

"Oh, Maeve, _enchante!_" he greets her. "This is Maeve Schreave," he says to the girl.

"I know," she chirps. "I'm Marisol, Perci's sister. I've heard a lot of you. Pleasured to meet you."

Maeve lets go of her breath. "Nice to meet you too," she replies.

"She's here, just in case she catches Alex and Griff. Both of whom probably won't come. Shall we go—is that _that_ marble?" he asks, with big eyes. "You still have it? I thought, you lost it like the others did…"

Maeve hand wanders to her chest, and she smiles. "Yeah, it was at home, safe and sound. I thought it'd be nice to be made into a necklace."

"It looks just as beautiful as you are, mi'lady," he replies.

"He's not a nice guy. He just grew up with a British grandma," Marisol pipes in.

They laugh, but soon leave Marisol in favor of taking photos with the other debutantes. They meet Gabby and Sia, and the girls receive their bouquets—also roses. The evening comes, and Maeve lines up with the other girls. Gabby isn't far off, but there are two couples between them. Sia is further in front; they are, of course, ordered by surname, meaning Maeve is among the last.

She isn't _the _last, though, and that's not nice.

But because the debutante's entrance is part of the whole opening ceremony and the rows of girls with their dates turn around a corner with slits to the ball room, she can watch it all. Most guests are seated, and the only ones left are the girls, the guests of honor and the committee.

Music starts playing. Illéa's anthem, she recognises. Among the guests of honour are the president and prime minister. She catches one outstanding head—red hair with golden highlights—and recognises her, Kenzie Choi, in a breath-taking red gown. She could be part of the decoration. _She's probably representing the White Rose and her family, Maeve._

(Again, Maeve is jealous.)

Each of them (that is how she catches Kenzie) is announced, and it takes a while for Perci and Maeve to reach the front. Each girl looks beautiful in their own right. They have to, given the price tag attached to debuting here. Nothing else would even be _considered_.

"Miss Gemma Maeve Schreave, accompanied by Mr Percival Santos."

She could swear that more heads turn than any time before. That more people whisper. It must be the Estelle scandal, she thinks, while walking down into the ball room. Doing that curtesy. She shouldn't curtesy, she's Gemma Maeve Schreave, but here she is. She is called crown princess of Illéa for a reason, but she does it, because she can't afford more rumours to her name. Perci and Maeve sit down, fortunately not far off her friends, and the committee sits, with an exception. Rebecca speaks, with the serenity of a goddess.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, friends and family, welcome to the annual Rose Cotillion." She greets the guests, welcoming particular foreign leaders visiting and remembering the past year. She mentions things of which Maeve knows nothing. Illéan things. "And finally, as there have been enough rumours, and yes, it is true. I am stepping down from my position as chairwoman of the Cotillion commitee, and I am glad to know that it will be in good hands. Following me, my dear friend who has done half of this year's organisation on her own, Rowena Carlisle, will be taking things over."

She gestures for Rowena, at the head table with all the important leaders and the committee—_that_ is why everyone wants that spot—to stand and the guests of the Cotillion applaud.

"Then, of course, there is an opening in the committee with me leaving. I have watched the young ladies that debuted over the years. I always knew that there was the chance for one member to leave us, and for that reason, I've kept a careful eye on these young roses." She pauses. "Today, one of them—and I am sure we all know her—will be joining us." She gestures to the youngest guest at the table—one that Maeve only now notices. "Marina Klydeworth, whom I think we all know of. After all," she chuckles, "parties are her business."

Even though the guests clap and Rina looks like she's dying inside thanks to that last remark, the weight on Maeve's chest remains heavy. She should sit at that table, as her grandmother's successor. Choosing Rina, from all she has heard, makes perfectly sense, but that doesn't mean that it anyhow eases her heart.

The opening programme continues, but she doesn't pay a lot of attention. Not even when Angel and his ballet performs.

* * *

Maeve stomach needs the arrival of dinner, but between the ballet performance, local children's choir and a bunch of more speeches, it feels like an eternity waiting to pass. It doesn't, and she does _not_ like that.

"Are you alright? You look pale. That dress isn't too tight, is it not?" Perci whispers to her.

"It's just the Estelle story making _everyone_ look at me. It makes me paranoid." Not a lie.

It goes on, and dinner arrives. The food is, again, rose-themed. They really stick to their theme. She wonders, _is it the same every year?_ She can't believe that, it'd be far too boring. Not worth having a whole committee tasked with organising it. She doubts that it's a coincidence that the _Rose _Cotillion has a heavy _rose_ theme now that she is back, but she doubts it's because of her either.

(Not with how things have been going.)

"Gemma, don't mind me asking," one of the girls seated with them speaks up with a smile that reminds Maeve far too much of Mean Girls. She's Gemma Maeve Schreave. She's important. She's rich. (Not among them, here, she's normal). "Are you part of the Chat?"

The first she wants to do is, yeah, glare confused or even better, ignore her. She can't do that, though. She can't be rude.

"Why do you want to know that?" Juan, to her surprise, asks.

The girl rolls her eyes. "Your little chat is the most exclusive clique in Illéa. I want to know if this infamous Gemma Schreave is in it. Your cousin is, isn't he?"

"Someone to whom Gregory Illéa is 'family history', surely, she'd be part of _the_ elite clique?" That girl's the one from earlier. Great. _Note to self, don't brag next time, it'll make things worse._

(As if she'll listen.)

"Is it that exclusive?" Sia asks, surprised. "Noah just added me and Simi, and then there's Mariposa, too. You wouldn't expect her in an 'exclusive clique'…"

Great news! She, who used to be called crown princess of Illéa, is not in the elite clique _and_ not in the not-very-exclusive clique!

"If you're jealous you aren't friends with certain people, you might want to reconsider if the reason isn't with you," Simeon shots at them. He continues eating.

And that's where the conversation ends. That girl has gotten the message, and so has Maeve. She isn't part of the cool kids. Sia is. Gabby probably too, given that _Juan_ spoke up. She's alone. Great. She's alone in a home that feels more foreign than the other side of the planet, and she's alone in a hall, on a debutante ball that's meant to be the highlight of a young girls' youth. Does she want to 'settle down' into this life? She'd even take superficial and materialistic Tessa and Celeste over _this_.

(She might as well just dig her own grave.)

The dinner ends. Maeve doesn't talk. Nobody notices, because most try to get news out of Juan on his newest movie (not worth the effort) and Maeve couldn't care less about it. Perci asks her twice, again, if she's alright, but what is she meant to say? "Oh, I'm sorry, I just feel pretty crappy because the friend group, that probably includes literally everyone I've met and thought I liked, doesn't include me, and some nobody girl just exposed me in public?" She really misses the old days.

She really misses home. Whatever it means.

The opening of the dance begins. Once, Maeve remembers hearing during their rehearsals, it used to be elaborate. Nowadays, the debutantes don't spend their days sitting around, gossiping, but half of these girls attend elite universities, and the other half have degrees from these universities. They don't have time to learn pretty dances for one evening when there's a world to change.

Or pretty boys to date.

Point being, she dances with Perci and it's almost awkward. Almost, because he isn't awkward. Almost looks understanding. Kind. Worrying, maybe. It's awkward on her side because Perci is definitely in the club too. They don't exchange a word. Maeve avoids his gaze.

After that, it doesn't get better. The father-daughter dance. Without a father in the picture anymore, the closest male relative to Maeve is _Julian_. They can't stand another. Standing by would probably—or so Rebecca decided—cause more of an uproar, and none of the Schreaves want to be reminded of _that drama_. So, she dances with Julian and doesn't say a word.

And the other girls talk even more.

"What about the Estelle hack? Is it true that she staged it? Did Estelle know, or who did she pay?"

"Is that why she's not in the chat? Do you guys know?"

They hover over Sia like hawks over their food. Maeve stops, just within range to hear them.

"I really don't think Maeve would do that," she defends her. Warmth fills Maeve's chest.

"And what about Noah Schreave's birthday party? About the scene she caused?"

"I wasn't there. I don't know what happened," Sia replies.

"So, it happened."

"I don't know, but—"

"Is she in the group chat?"

"No? How is that related—"

"Why not, then?"

"I don't know, I don't read it every day. I'm busy with work and studies."

"What about her dress?" the girls then say. "And her hair and makeup? That the dress isn't even haute couture, and that she did her hair herself? This ball has such a longstanding tradition, do you think it's fit for her, a drama queen, to not even take it seriously? She's _Rebecca Schreave's_ granddaughter. She should know better."

(None of them knows _how much_ better she should know.)

Maeve frowns. It's the _last_ thing

d she would expect to hear. Sure, she didn't choose the most expensive designer but one's apprentice, but wasn't supporting indie designers and the local economy the trend, or some nonsense? Things that people had to eat up because it was nice and altruistic? She turns away. She can't just walk out, or it'll be worse. Like Estelle said, _head high, be proud._

(She's not sure if that'll work.)

Maybe she can join her mother or grandmother, pretend that she's just checking in on them. Get away from the other girls in her age. She's grateful for Sia's attempts, but they don't solve anything. They delay the inevitable. Maeve gulps when she realises.

"This is never gonna work. Illéa isn't gonna work."

She needs to get out of here. _Now_.

* * *

**Chapter Summary:**

Maeve meets with Rebecca in the morning of the Cotillion, where her grandmother expresses odd thoughts about the Illéa Palace. Anna arrives, with a necklace that Maeve had a jeweller make, centring around the marble that Perci gave to her a long time ago. Maeve arrives, and elaborates the history of the White Rose hotel to a few girls, gaining their attention. She meets the chatty Mariposa who talks about the rumours of Sia and Juan dating, which Maeve can clarify. The ball begins and still tense, Maeve soon is asked about whenever she's part of the chat clique centring around Noah and his friends. She's hurt, and while Sia, Perci and Juan defend her, she struggles.

**Next Chapter:** Maeve rage quits

* * *

**_Author's Note_**

**Happy actual April update!**

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think, especially about the events of the Cotillion and Rebecca's little monologue—what do you think does she talk about?**

**I hope you all are safe and well; if you need someone to chat to while under lockdown or so, feel free to hit me up! I'm currently wifi-less for unknown time, but I still have mobile data!**

**Edit: There are a few aesthetics (and I plan to add more throughout the month, but what is time) regarding people's outfits on Pinterest. **


	12. To Confide and Comfort

_**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**_

**IX**

_To Confide and Comfort_

* * *

Gemma Maeve Schreave's dark blue suitcase clicks close. The sun has barely risen past the skyscrapers she can see from her window. Her bed is a chaos thanks to the absolute lack of sleep she got over the course of the last night, and her Cotillion dress still lays on the table in her room. Half of her room looks like it was ransacked. There's probably hairspray in her hair.

In her hand is a little metallic dart. The dartboard isn't in her room, but there is a world map covering the wall, filled with polaroid photos of Gemma Maeve Schreave all over the planet. She throws the dart.

Japan.

That's not a bad idea. She's not been there in a while. It's winter there, sure, but maybe that's the silver lining. She could go skiing; all the equipment she'd need, she could rent there. Then see what she'll do next. Not teaching—one year of that was more than enough. Maybe she can find a job. Maybe travel on to Korea, it'd be great to pick up more of the language.

She grab her suitcase, handbag and backpack, and quietly puts them together. Mum's still asleep, but she's also on the other side of the building. She'd probably not hear her (she hopes). On her phone, she starts looking for plane tickets to Japan. It's an eight hours flight. She can travel in Japan, and then figure out her next plan of actions. And get her mind off things.

(Mainly that.)

The closest flight not fully booked is in the afternoon. Not ideal, but she prefers waiting in the anonymity of the airport over here, in her apartment, where she is Gemma Maeve Schreave and inevitably going to meet her mother. She does not want to do that.

Instead, she writes a message to her mother on a notebook that she leaves on the counter.

_Hi mum,_

_ I don't think Ill__éa__ is gonna work out for me. I get that you all want me to stay, inheritance or not, but I just don't feel at home or happy here. Yes, this is related to Estelle Mun and all, and no, knowing that it wasn't me isn't going to stop other people from talking and that from affecting me. I'm sorry, but it's just not working out._

_ Gemma Maeve Schreave_

(Thrice, she's crossed out her signature. What is she meant to sign as? Gemma, like her mother calls her, and like the Schreave Real Estate girl that she's meant to be? Maeve, like the self that she wove for herself when she went abroad, when she grew out of being the bratty child? She goes for her full name; it looks too formal for such a short note, but she doesn't know better.)

And so, she makes her way to the airport. She calls a taxi, because she can't just park her own car at the airport for god knows how many years. The taxi driver tries to start up a conversation, asking about what she's planning for Christmas, but Maeve's current plans are 'get into a plane and see'; she's not exactly fond of any attempt on a conversation. She leans against the window with a bitter feeling.

Illéa _is_ her home, even if it doesn't feel that way. Her mum and grandma are here. It's always been her base when travelling and living all over the globe. Illéa is important to her, as foreign as these skyscrapers and buildings feel to her. _This is home_, she thinks, but that doesn't stop them from talking. Rumours from spreading. She can't put that on the family name. They'll be better off with Julian as primary heir.

When the taxi driver sees the melancholy in her eyes, he stops trying to talk. Maeve is grateful in some way; elsewise, she feels like her watery eyes would give in. They always seem like they will. But they reach the airport, and she doesn't cry.

(Maybe, after last night, she's got no more tears left to cry.)

The only airport of Illéa is also its largest building and property. She remembers hearing that when Schreave Real Estate was not as large as it is now, her grandmother worked hard on obtaining a few properties one or two numbers away from it, expecting an expansion to happen very soon. The properties between the airport and those she obtained were sold for good money, making space for a new runway, and unsurprisingly, the growing tourism industry, the building of the Dominica Theme Park and thee growth in international tourism allowed her to almost demand whatever she wanted; the airport needed the land. Rebecca foresaw the expansion in air traffic, when others didn't expect it. That clever thinking is what Maeve admires in her, among many things.

Sehe enters terminal one, and immediately is met with crowds. Lines almost reach the entrance, and she can't even see the entrance to the security checks from here; there are crowds and crowds of people in the way.

Christmas. Of course. Summer holidays. Even worse. Thanks to Illéa's mixture of cultures, there are many government-mandated holidays (too many, the capitalist in Maeve thinks) and the schools are on summer holidays now too; it's prime season to travel and visit family all over the globe.

She's gonna be lucky if she reaches security control when boarding for her plane starts, at this rate. With suitcases, bag and handbag, she stops—of course, in the middle of the slim free path where passengers and workers alike walk past—to pull out her phone and rebook to First Class. The lines for that have to be a little shorter, she reasons.

Maeve doesn't get that far. She runs into something—someone—and her phone goes flying.

Cassia Earl is just as distracted as Maeve is. "_Ahora tienes a dormite. Tu mami te quire mucho!_"

The brunette looks up from her phone conversation. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry!" she exclaims as Maeve moves to pick it up. "Is it cracked? Does it work?" It works, but there's a large crack on the screen nonetheless. "I'll pay for it to be fixed," she immediately offers.

(_Yeah, nah, the Fortune 9 is new and expensive_. It's barely been on the market, but of course, Gemma has it.)

Only now, Maeve gets a chance to take a look at her. Dark brown eyes, brown hair, olive skin. Full lips, fitter than Maeve will ever be, but wearing comfortable clothes and her passport in her hand. She's probably a fellow traveller, Illéan going by passport and accent.

"I—thanks?" That's surprising, to say the least. Gemma would have walked on, forgotten about her and the phone. The airport is busy, and since when do strangers do that? Gemma wouldn't.

Friendly Airport Stranger takes out a notebook and scribbles an email, name, and phone number on it. "Just call me or let me know if you have a bill. I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."

Maeve laughs a little, "To be fair, I'm standing in the middle of the path." She skims the paper. "… Cassiopeia Earl?"

"Call me Cassia," she smiles. "I just came off the plane from Spain. Jet lag. Sorry"

"Gemma. Maeve. Gemma Maeve. Whatever, my name is long. No worries." She would've done the same—sans the offer to pay. "Spain, huh? Must be cold there, now."

"It's probably about fifteen degrees," Cassia guesses. "Do you happen to know where place to get a taxi is? I swear, I must have missed it. The exit where they stop and wait, I mean?"

"Uhm…" Does she have time to show Cassia? Her phone is cracked, but not broken; Maeve checks if the ticket purchase went through. She has to take a later flight to get a First-Class ticket (which makes her a little guilty, but Gemma _had_ to); she can show Cassia the way to the right exit. They're on the wrong floor.

(It's not been that long since she was here last.)

"Where are you going?" Cassia asks, curious.

"Japan. Tokyo," Maeve replies.

"Visiting family?" Cassia assumes.

Maeve mutters a vague sound. She isn't, but she doesn't need to tell a random stranger that she's essentially a twenty-four years old running away from her family, home and what not because of some gossip attached to her name and because she can't be the person they expect—_need_—her to be, does she?

"How about you? What were you up to in Spain?"

"I live there. I'm here to visit my mother."

"Cool."

"We haven't spoken in a few years, and I guess, it's to try and mend the relationship…" So, not so cool. "It's really weird to be back here. I grew up here, you know."

"I did too." Maeve looks aside to the escalator. She bits on her lip and sighs.

Cassia's smile is pretty, to say the least, and unlike Maeve who's eyes are fixed on the escalator leading down stairs, she looks through the bright windows and to the blue sky of Illéa. "Illéa a beautiful, but it's so weird to be back."

"Beautiful. Yes."

"Is everything okay?" Cassia frowns. She turns to Maeve, path and possible-other-broken-phones be damned.

_No, but what can I do?_

"Yeah," she forces a smile. Gemma Maeve Schreave can't burden some random stranger that inevitably doesn't know what's going on in her life and Illéa's elite's life. That's below Maeve.

Cassia doesn't give in. "I doubt that. Do you want to stay here?"

"I guess, no, but I don't have a choice."

"Why not?" Cassia frowns. "Why do you have to go in the first Place?"

"Illéa isn't going to work out for me. I've been away too much." She pauses. "I grew up here too, but I went abroad when I was younger. I've only just come back, and everything is _already_ going downwards. I can't deal with that."

_Are you really going to give a stranger your life story, Maeve? You're Gemma Maeve Schreave. Have standards. You can't just talk with some random _peasant_. What if someone sees you? You're not Noah. You don't do this for charitable cases. What if she's got a criminal record, and people think you're friends?_

(The part of Maeve that is the Schreave girl, the heiress, the rich kid has a point, but Maeve _needs_ to talk to _someone_. That's the thing 'Gemma' wouldn't understand, because to her, Illéa is home. To Maeve, it's just another drama-in-the-making.)

"What's going down?"

_Guess I really am,_ Maeve thinks. _It's not like I'll ever see her again._

"_Everything_."

Cassia hesitates for a moment; she looks for the right words. "What is 'everything'?"

"Too much to summarise."

"Can you tell me anything? One thing—whatever it is?" She smiles. "If you want to, it is. Talking helps. I'm happy to listen."

_How do you say _that_?_ "There's this radio show that everyone, apparently, likes. Like, a lot. Estelle Mun's _Love Report_. Someone hacked them a week ago, and went 'Gemma Schreave is coming back'. That's me, Gemma Maeve Schreave. They can't find any clues to who's behind it, and some people say I organised it, whenever the studio, Estelle and what not knew of it or not. For dramatic effect, I guess? I don't know. I didn't do anything. Apparently, everyone loves Estelle Mun and she was _frightened_. Now, everyone hates _me._ Everybody I know keeps going on about it."

Cassia nods. "That sounds scary. I've heard of her. It must be terrible, to be unable to do anything."

"It is! Everyone's like 'Gemma, what do you know?', but besides that the police has 'no note-worthy evidence' they can tell me or anyone about, I know nothing! It's like someone is _out_ to destroy my life!"

"It sounds like a witch hunt."

"It _is_. I'm just waiting for people to show up in front of my house waving torches."

"That alone sounds like a reason why you'd want to disappear from the surface of earth," Cassia agrees. Maeve smiles, too_. _"Is there more?"

"My cousin—who sucks—has this group chat of friends, and the few friends I've made by now are _all_ part of it. Someone who's _not_ in it asked me if I was in. I don't know—this sounds like the biggest first would problem ever…" She groans. "But it's just… I don't even know why. It hurts. They're my friends, too, but it's like I'm just standing around and tagging along sometimes, while they have all these insiders and secrets going on."

"It's fine!" she insists. "If it makes you upset, then it's a valid problem for your happiness. That's not good."

"It feels really stupid to be upset about that stuff, but for someone who's been the new kid literally every year in her life, it's so _weird_… People always just let me be part of their groups and all, and now—you know, my friends literally avoid bringing it up in front of me, as if they want to hide its existence from me! It's—_of course_, they have all the right to not let me be part of it. But I just made friends! I just felt like Illéa could be a place where I feel happy! _But no_—Now I'm alone again. Yes, they are my friends, but it's like I'm—I don't know. It's like I'm a second-grade friend. I'm there if the main friends aren't available, you know?"

Cassia nods. "And you feel replacable and unwanted."

"Exactly."

"It's so strange. I feel homesick, but I could never say for what or where. Illéa is what I always say where I'm from, but I spend the last decade abroad, at different places. I'm homesick for the idea of having a home!" she groans and leans onto her suitcase. "First world problem, as I said. There are people on the streets, struggling to eat, and I complain about this."

(Maeve doesn't like that. She's seen that. Wealth gap. Third world countries. She shouldn't be worrying about this.)

"You have all the rights in the world to be sad," Cassia reminds her. "You're only human."

"I'm—believe me. It's terrible."

"So, you're heading to Japan to get away from this all? To get a break, I mean?"

"A break of two weeks Illéa." She laughs bitter. "Yeah. To get away from it. All of it."

"You don't sound like you _want_ to leave."

"Because I don't!" Maeve exclaims. "But this isn't working out, and I don't want to deal with this all! I wanna be here, be Illéa's little crown princess again. But I can't. I can't go back to that, I can't be me, I can't be anything!"

"Is there any way you can do both? Not deal with 'this all' and stay?" Cassia asks.

She looks like she's got an idea. Maeve doesn't. That sucks. Yet, no matter how 'I have no idea' Maeve looks at her, Cassia doesn't spit it out. "No, not really."

"Can you not avoid them?"

She laughs out. "Never. Not with society events and all. Social season _just_ started. Literally. Yesterday." She rubs away mascara smudge. "It's a weird thing, I know and—"

"I know," Cassia assures her. "All kinds of events. Evenings—whole nights out. As I said, I grew up in Illéa. My parents went to that stuff all the time."

_Oh? Cassia is also one of the rich kids?_ _Great job, Maeve. Talk about 'never seeing her again'. Told you._

How come she doesn't know Maeve's name, then? She mentioned her full name, and Cassia mentioned the Estelle drama… Great. Now she's crying her life out to some girl that'll gossip with everyone. _Great_. Life is going great. "You know what's going on."

"I _used_ to live here," Cassia reminds her. "I haven't been in Illéa in a few years. I left when I started university. That's a while ago. Medicine takes a while."

"Oh."

"I know it'd be hard. Especially if you have to attend that stuff because of your family."

"Yeah," Maeve mutters bitter. "My dear grandmother is using my inheritance to threaten me into getting a boyfriend. So, avoiding them isn't a thing."

"Does it need to be anyone among the rich people?" Cassia wonders. "Get a 'peasant', so to say?"

"That doesn't—I _can't_. I'm Gemma Maeve Schreave. I can't just not do that."

(Even Maeve doesn't get _how_ important her family is.)

Cassia nods. "That makes sense. They'd feel played and insulted."

"I just—I mean, I have friends. Sia, Gabby, even Perci. That's great, but the moment I feel comfortable and have friends, Noah and his group chat break everything apart. The moment I think I find a place where I belong, he has to break it apart!" she cries. "It's like—it makes no sense, but I feel like they betrayed me."

(These aren't tears, totally not.)

"That sounds terrible," and Cassia hugs her. She gives good hugs, that's for sure. Very good ones. "To be fair, I'm staying in Illéa for a while, and I don't have contact to anyone here. I can promise that. We can be friends!"

Maeve smiles. "Yeah, I'll take that." Cassia isn't a boyfriend, but she's a friend Maeve can trust. Someone who isn't secretly in a fancy group chat of selected people. Someone, by whom Maeve doesn't feel betrayed.

"Betrayal is an interesting metaphor," Cassia says.

"And…?"

"Just saying. It says a lot about how you feel."

Maeve nods. "It's like—I was so glad to find someone. Sia was so nice at the party, and Gabby is always so sweet. Plus, both have hot brothers. It was a great shot on getting a best friend and a boyfriend with it. And Perci—I know him from primary school. He's so sweet, and he was back then. We were friends. And now they're with Noah. _I hate him_."

"Noah?"

"My cousin."

"Do you mind me asking _why_ you hate him?"

Maeve doesn't even know that. "I don't know. He's always had friends. Always got along just fine with everyone, without being the best or coolest. I tried my best, but it was never the same. Just—he was always the star of the group. Apparently still is. I was, too, when I went abroad, but of course. Now that I'm back, it's Noah Schreave-is-loved-by-everyone all over."

(Here, Cassia concludes she's jealous.)

"That's—it sounds horrifying."

"Yeah! It is! You give your best, and still, it's always Noah. Is that why you went abroad?"

Maeve shakes her head. "That's another drama. Don't worry about that. It's sorted. It's a long story."

She wipes away the tears. Imagines how terrible her make up must be. People will laugh—that's not good. Not good at all. They can't laugh at her. She's Gemma Maeve Schreave, and people shouldn't ever dare to laugh at her.

They reach the exit, with the yellow taxis waiting outside. Maeve's heart drops. Cassia is gonna leave now. She's gonna fly to Japan and give this all up and start all over, just like she always does.

"Are you going to go?" Cassia asks.

"I don't want to," Maeve knows.

"Then don't. Your cousin shouldn't rule your life."

"He doesn't rule it but…"

"There has to be a way to enjoy Illéa without him. If you leave now, you'll lose your inheritance for sure. If you stay and try to find a way around, you still have a shot! If you leave, you miss hundred percent of your chances."

"Okay, yes, he kind of rules my social life," says Maeve with a sigh. "You're right."

"You're staying?"

"For now. I can always get a new plane ticket—when the airport isn't in pre-Christmas rush." She turns to the taxis. She'll need one to get home. "Where are you heading, again?"

"I booked a room in Waverly until the next semester starts. If I end up staying more, I can find something more permanent then."

"How about we get a taxi to my place, I drop my stuff, and we head on to yours? I have a car here, so no need to pay expensive taxi fees."

Cassia nods. "Sure, why not? Where do you live?"

"Likely—that's the central business district. It's right on the way between here and Waverly, either way."

They catch the first taxi (that briefly eyes them suspiciously; can two college grad-aged girls pay for taxi fair to Likely?), convince him to take them when Maeve indirectly threatens him with her unlimited credit card, and they are on their way. Cassia takes in Illéa's streets just like Maeve did, only a few days ago.

"I still—" Maeve breaks off. She can't bother Cassia now, when she's literally airport-tired and checking out how her hometown has changed.

"Yeah?" Cassia turns to her. It's odd—strange, even suspicious—that she's so willing to help. Maeve doesn't completely trust that. Why would she do that? "What?"

"I still don't feel like I can just go back to Sia and Gabby like that. Their friend group is another. I'm a second-class citizen here."

Cassia nods. "That's alright. You can make them your secondary friends; you keep in touch and all, but you'll find yourself a main friend group!" she beams, almost.

"I'll figure something out, yeah."

The Schreave Apartment Tower is what the name implies; a skyscraper with high quality apartments, often rent out to successful lawyers, business workers and similar that don't make enough to own a penthouse and don't want to live in the suburbs. With how difficult housing in Illéa is, being landlords makes a surprisingly large portion of the Schreaves' work in their hometown.

Maeve is quick to put the suitcases and bags into her room; mum's out, probably off to some doctor's appointment or physiotherapy. She hands Cassia a drink (from the kitchen she's lost in) and goes to look for her car keys. There are a few.

(Given Maeve's absence and Daphne's disability, they have been standing around for a while.)

"Ferrari or Lamborghini?" she asks.

Cassia proves to be a good rich kid. "Bugatti?" she jokes.

"Sure." She pauses. "In my defence, my dad used to collect cars. I wanted red ones, so we have red cars."

Cassia doesn't mind. "Everyone has their hobbies."

And off they are, into the red Bugatti. Cassia gives her the address of the hotel, and with Maeve's top-notch driving skills, they were on their way to Waverly. Waverly, in the north of Illéa, is known for its universities—including the one that Maeve was meant to (and didn't) attend, Illéa University.

"What do your parents do?" she asks.

Cassia replies, "My dad's an astrophysicist and—is that _the_ Science Museum?" She points to one of the buildings by the side. It has said name on its front, and Maeve vaguely remembers visiting it in primary school, but that's all she knows.

"I think so. Wanna stop?"

"Sure, if you don't mind?"

Maeve laughs, "I don't have plans today."

They stop the car on front of the museum where Maeve parks. Cassia is quick to jump out of the car, to step closer to the museum. It's not large or anything, and Maeve remembers being disappointed (there are so much cooler museums in Illéa, one of them being the Andromeda Project headquarter) when they came here.

"I went here when I was a kid."

"EFPA kid, too?" Maeve asks. "I swear, if we shared classes, that's awkward. I remember almost no one from primary school."

Cassia laughs. "I don't either, though. But yes, _Elizabeth Feller Preparatory Academy_, too." She draws out the name in sarcasm. It's a bit overdone, yeah. Maeve agrees, though her memories from EFPA are sweet. Bitter sweet.

Th ere is only one decent choice of education from primary school for those that can afford it.

"Wanna check it out? How it's changed?" Cassia suggests.

"Sure!" Maeve nods. She's got nothing planned, she reasons, then she might as well go along. Plus, making friends. Socializing. That's important. "We can go sightseeing—if your jetlag allows."

"I slept in the plane. Might spend the night awake, but I'm fine for the day," she assures her. "Let's go!"

And off they are, to a museum that's filled with a few kids. Surprisingly, a science museum focusing on human evolution isn't what Maeve would spend her holidays with. Nonetheless, they walk through the exhibition on the evolution of humans, and r eminiscent of their school time. Cassia had been in Noah's year group, it turns out.

"Oh, I remember that maths teacher!" Cassia laughs when they step out of the museum. "She told us about an underclassman that asked why they can't employ people to do that for them."

"… That was me," Maeve says, and Cassia bursts into laughter. "I now get why that was a bad idea." She stops at her car and opens it. "Where to next? Wanna continue sightseeing?"

"If we're onto it, we should visit the real landmarks!" Cassia says and off they are to checking out Illéa's real sightseeing destinations—the ninety-degree beach where they grab a late lunch and the parliament where Gregory Illéa failed to attempt to declare himself King to the little population Illéa had then, and pass the Illéa Palace where tourist try to get a good photo from the street. (Maeve considers driving in, to say hi to her grandma, but no; she's not in the mood for that now). From there, Maeve wants to suggest going to the harbour, but driving though the busy city takes its time and it's nearing evening. Not that they can't stay out as long as they want, but hey, travelling's tiring.

"Oh, we should check out Andromeda!" Maeve realises.

"The galaxy?" Cassia asks. "Are you hiding a space ship in your car?"

"No, the Andromeda Project. Illéa's unofficial space agency. You heard of it?"

(Maybe, Cassia was just blending out its existence.)

"Oh." Her tone drops harder than the beat drop in Miguel Santiago's latest mix.

Maeve isn't utterly tone deaf (no matter what you might say) and there's something odd for sure. Cassia said that her dad's an astrophysicist. Maeve is far from a science genius, but that sounds like something related to Andromeda. Maybe he had a dispute with the Project? There had been some form of trust scandal a few years ago, but then again, Maeve had been in Paris…

"Not?" she asks.

Cassia leans against the window. "Maria Andersson, the CEO of the Project, is my mother. I'm here to fix our relationship, I guess, but I'm not sure if I want to do that on day one."

"Ah, I see," Maeve says, because she's got no idea what else to say. "What happened?"

"She cheated on my dad when I was seventeen. It was an ugly divorce. When we could, we moved away. My dad still has shares, though. He worked here, until the divorce. It's their brain child. It's not I don't want to—I used to always want to work here—but you know, I could also not." She half-smiles, indecisive. "You know?"

Maeve nods. She knows that story better than most. "Yeah. We can go elsewhere, if you want, but CEOs don't usually do tours, you know. If they really ask for names, we just say we didn't bring our IDs and give a fake one."

"That's true."

Maeve laughs. "Imagine the flex if you say 'oh, yeah, I came to your workplace the other day but couldn't be bothered to meet you'."

"I mean, my mum wanted me to come earlier for that Cotillion, I'm worried—"

"You didn't miss much."

They laugh. "I came late on purpose, because I don't really—I've got a grudge, you know."

"Cheaters suck," Maeve agrees, "he—she's got no excuse."

"Here I am, telling you to stay and work around your problems while I want to avoid mine…" She shakes her head. "Let's go."

And off they are. It's a bit more difficult to access the Andromeda Project grounds, predominantly because half of it is on its own island—like the Dominica Theme Park. If you shoot rockets into space, that's kind of necessary. Otherwise, the population of Illéa would be salty. The only public entrance is at the employee car park. That's where tour starts, not at the world-wide known block at the water.

They sign in, and wait for the next tour, pass through security (the plane-ready girls have no problems), follow the walk-on-your-own tour (also clearly limited in walk space) to the reception area and they wait. Some children look at the for-children made exhibition explaining how space travel works. Cute.

"I always thought this building looked terrible," Maeve admitted. It doesn't. It's a large quarder, split in the middle and has geometric windows all over it. "Space travel? The stars? I didn't expect a glorified box. Now, I appreciate it."

Cassia points towards the water outside. The main building is located right at the water, only a—Project only—where a private pour is located. At the horizon is another island—the launch pad. "My parents used to take me to the launch pad all the time. You have to take a boat there when the water is out. It's a pain, but it allows for additional security."

"They take security more seriously at the Schreave Real Estate office…" Maeve mutters.

"People are more likely to die here, aren't they? If someone was to sabotage the rockets. If the wind was abnormally bad or so on, the coast of Illéa would be in danger."

"That's why it's so far away, isn't it? The island?"

"It was the only one available, but you don't want a rocket launch in the city centre, don't you?"

Cassia could lead the tour itself; even when the tour guide arrives and picks up the bunch of tourists and the two girls starts with an introduction, she keeps whispering remarks to Maeve about things he's missing out, or fun stories.

"Did you know that being located so close to the equator as we are here in Illéa is very beneficial to starting rockets, as we get most of earth's angular momentum?"

"Yes."

(Poor tour guide.)

They walk past exhibitions explaining what Andromeda has done and achieved, that introduce the Andromeda satellites and what not. All in all, nothing ground-breaking and not worth the price, Maeve thinks, but it's more about playing tourist, really.

"For that price, I'd expect more," Maeve mutters to Cassia as they walk past a glass wall showcasing a bunch of engineers working.

"Unless you're interested in space and the actual maths, it doesn't get much fancier outside astronaut training and launches. I used to hang out here all the time because the concept of babysitters was foreign to my parents. I thought it was fun to listen to all the work being done, but I suppose that's not everyone's ideal after noon."

"Such as…?"

"There once was a big discussion about escape velocity, because the budget—gosh, it's always the budget—didn't allow for a vehicle powerful enough to send everything to space. There was a big fiasco about calculating the idea size, to allow everything to get into space, versus costs. We couldn't do whatever we wanted, though, because we had to reach escape velocity—that's the speed necessary to—"

Yeah, Maeve doesn't get that stuff. "… Budget, I can do. The rest sounds like me worrying about my figure."

"It's pretty much that, but with a big rocket," Cassia laughs.

The tour is nice and all, and probably even better for Cassia and her throwbacks of her childhood. They end up in the main building again, free to check out the exhibition again, but elsewise unable to move on—there's the issue of security and all. Can't have a rocket crash into Illéa. You need swipe cards.

(Very very good and totally not stealable security.)

They hang out in the exhibition for a bit—especially when Cassia gets stuck explaining a rocket to a little kid. She likes it, and Maeve doesn't mind. It's better than sitting at home, alone, pondering about the inevitable social death before her.

"Oh, and—there is an incredible chance for us, here today!" the tour guide tells the yet-not-dispersed group. "I have just received word that Dr Maria Andersson, the CEO of the Andromeda Project, is present and happy to answer questions if anyone has them."

The kid does. Cassia does too—how to get out of hits. Maeve can see that in her face.

"Uh, Maeve?" she whispers. "Do we want to make an early exit?"

She nods understanding. "Yeah, except, if your mum looks anything like you and is greeted like a CEO, then she's coming out of our escape entrance—wait, what?" Cassia grabs her hand, and pulls her through a door, just as a couple of talking employees follow up. She doesn't stop there, but pulls her on.

"Hope?" Maeve repeats.

"Excuse me, miss, but you can't just walk in here."

"Hanger B-2, isn't it?" Cassia asks him, putting on a little of a Spanish accent. "If so, yes, I'm right where I am meant to be. Apologise; my—" She hesitates. "—my assistant here lost the key cards and I am on my way to an important project. The Pluto probe, Persephone. The one set to launch this spring. Dr Lucia Martinez, from the University of Barcelona. The dwarf planets out there are my area of expertise, and I am here to advice."

Maeve gathers herself. They're _so_ going to need to buy themselves out of this. She lets Cassia go on with her little lie, because the two employers look to another. Maeve steps closer, to get a close look onto their name badges.

They're interns.

"_Dr Martinez_," she begins with her best Spanish, "_these are interns. Not worth your time_."

Cassia readjusts her posture, in an attempt to look arrogant. "_Oh, is that so?_" She looks at their badges. "Mr Renn, Miss Witts, before you lose your precious internship here over bothering me, I suggest you stop bothering superiors."

"… Girl, you're like younger than me. Did you even finish college?" the first intern says.

"And Isaac Newton developed his theory of gravity at age twenty-three. We can't all be that, can't we? Now, I suggest you get back to your stations. I am—_when was it again, the meeting?—_very likely already late. Now, hush, I'm sure you have some simulation to watch or coffee to fetch."

Cassia turns around and marches off. Like the apparent assistant, Maeve follows. She turns around, to catch a look at the confused interns. They're definitely going to get into trouble. They'll ask a superior about this Dr Martinez, and that supervisor will tell them that there is no such doctor. Or google her. Same outcome. They'll look at the security cameras and

"I didn't know you speak Spanish," Cassia remarks, while grabing a white lab coat. Her disguise, apparently. Maeve's no spy, she doesn't belong into Juan Santiago's movies!

"I didn't know you're an actress. Or aware of how to escape a top security space research facility."

"I'm not. This is what my mum would do—and there's an exit to the break space that has a little garden. At least there was, when I was last here. From there, we should be able to get to the visitor's path…" Cassia fades off. "It'll be fine."

"_Fine?_" Maeve huffs. "We're going to be lucky to get out here, and will get a law suit either way. People are going to believe the Estelle story at this rate…"

Cassia doesn't catch that, though. Her optimism? Maeve wants that. The inside of the laboratories of the Andromeda Project are quite a sight, but it's not very amazing when you worry about the incoming lawsuit. Yikes.

"Gemma? Gemma Schreave?" Maeve stops, in front of Rosalind Astor, Poppy's younger sister. The redhead, holding a tablet, looks at the two. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, hi."

"A friend?"

"The sister of a friend of Perci," Maeve replies, hoping that Cassia will catch what that means. She's not entirely a friend, even if Rosalind had been quite nice. There's a lot pointing to her being a chat member too, predominantly being Poppy's sister.

"Great. You can get us out," Cassia determines. "I'm Cassia. Long story short, we're avoiding my mum whom I don't get along with. She works here, and we did the tour…"

Rosalind nods, confused. "I work here, yes. Dual university degree. Why?"

"If you're in IT, can you delete the security coverage? With Estelle, I really don't want the drama of Andromeda suing us for walking around."

Cassia shakes her head, "My mum wouldn't do that. I'll have to explain, worst case."

"If you're just avoiding your mum and someone actually comes, I can let the security team know. I've got a few buddies there! If anything comes up, I will just let them know, and that I know you," Rosalind immediately suggests. "And, Gemma, I mentioned meeting you to my father. He'd love to meet you, if you—"

"I'm sure you can solve this later," Cassia rushes, "but there's still a chance of my mum coming this way and I really don't want to meet her. Do you mind doing this later? The break area is that way, isn't it? The one with the exit?"

Rosalind looks down, almost disappointed. "Yes, it is. I'll text you or—wait, I don't have your message."

"DM me on Instagram, it's gem-maeve," Maeve tells her, and follows Cassia around a few corners, doors and outside. They reach the guest path, surprise a few confused tourists, and maybe a little too fast return to the exit and Maeve's car.

(Rightly so; Maria Andersson was on her way to said hanger.)

"_The coincidence!_" Cassia exclaims in the car. "How is it possible for us to almost meet my mum, now out of all times?"

"I don't know. Maybe she's had someone on the look out for you?"

"… I wouldn't put that past her. No contact for seven years, and now she suddenly needs me back. I first thought she had cancer or something, but she would have said that…" Cassia sighs.

Maeve looks down. Cancer. Death. She almost let Rebecca die alone. A great granddaughter, she is. Yikes. Another reason to feel guilty, to that never-ending list. She takes a deep breath—not now. She's having a nice day out with a friend.

"Do you want to head anywhere, or to your hotel?" Maeve asks. "Not that I want to get rid of you, but I'm—I'm a bit shaken."

"Oh, really?" Cassia turns to her. "It's gonna be fine, really! Worst case, I'll need to talk to my mum, but that's it. I'm sorry. I didn't realise it'd upset you."

Maeve twirls her hair. "It's—It's fine. You're right. Your mum won't sue you. I just didn't think about it, and with Estelle—don't worry. Let's get you checked in, will we? I need to prepare some work stuff, I think, too…"

Cassia smiles. "Sure. We should hang out again, though."

"Happy to."

* * *

**Chapter recap:**

Maeve is over Illéa. To her, it's a hopeless idea to stay and try; she books the next plane ticket to Japan, fully intending to do something that is not "be the Schreave heiress she always thought she was". While torn between the Maeve she believed herself to be when living abroad and Gemma Maeve Schreave, the Schreave heiress that Illéa once knew and she's trying to be, she runs into Cassia Earl, the daughter of space research institute Andromeda Project's CEO. Cassia turns out to be a great friend and instead of leaving, Maeve spends the day with her, changing her mind, for now. They visit the Andromeda Project HQ and technically break into it. Fun times.

**Next Chapter Teaser:** Maeve meets old friends and makes new ones

* * *

**_Author's Note_**

**Meet Cassia, the first OC that was submitted and second-to-last to debut. Ooops. Sorry, Moon. You get the first 'date' in return. ****Thanks to Pocket for helping me with Spanish! Cassia technically speaks Spain-Spanish, not Latin Spanish, but Pocket was the closest I had to a Spanish translator.**

**(I fully apologised for any typos or anything, point them out to me, I have to study. What is time to edit. T _ T)**


	13. Old Friends, New Friends

**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**

**X**

_Old Friends, New Friends_

* * *

Maeve changes her Spotify playlist. Again. Until now, it had been J-Rock—to set the mood for the trip-that-won't-happen-now—but she hits a random playlist; German pop songs. _Schlager_. _Meinetwegen… If I really have to... (_She can't bring herself to listen to something from Illéa. Not yet.) She delivers Cassia to her hotel, not without both of them questioning Maeve's choice of music, makes sure she's checked in. She heads on her way home, through the evening traffic. The sun is setting in the distance, the summer heat slowly dissipates as a soft breeze pushes through her open window. The evening rush hour—_Feierabendverkehr_, she thinks. Traffic of the evening celebration. People are heading home to enjoy their free time. To have a nice day. _If only_—buzzes, but to her, it's silent. The music doesn't reach her mind. Her thoughts run wild.

_Cassia is nice. She's a good friend. I like her. i_—_Gemma Maeve Schreave can be friends with her, right?_ That's great. _I have friends_. But the de facto break-in into Andromeda is a sure way to get back to the news and Gemma can't do _that_—if she ever had to break into _anywhere_, she'd _pay_ people to do that!

(Unfortunately, the series she's binging requires subtitles for her broken Korean. No distraction available. The music doesn't do the deal either. She isn't interested in running breathless through the night.)

Maeve circles around the block twice, to procrastinate, but against all odds, she makes it home. There, Daphne Daulton-Schreave is waiting for her with her leaving note in her hand and the strangest look in her face. Dumbass Maeve can't read it, doesn't know whenever it's disappointment, understanding, confusion or worry in her eyes. Her thoughts are still with _what am I going to do when the press finds out_.

"I—I can explain."

"No need to."

"Oh."

"Have a seat, sweetie."

Maeve hesitates to 'have a seat'. The last time this happened (and part of that is because Maeve's been living abroad ever since—_her_ fault), her world broke apart. Not the best way to start 'let's give Illéa a third chance'. If only she had stayed and Gemma had grown up with everyone and she had friends and roots here and she actually _belonged_ here... "Okay…? It's fine, really. Just had a bad day."

"Gemma, even if I'm not the most sociable person, I do have ears. I've heard the rumours."

"Which are false. That dress was designer."

"I don't—yes. It was. Nathaniel mentioned that."

"Nat—who?"

Daphne folds her hands on her lap. "I invited an old friend here, from EFPA. Nathaniel Montgomery-Romilly. You were such good friends in primary school—you, Percival and Nathaniel spent every day together."

(How'd she know she didn't leave? Maeve doesn't even _want_ to know.)

The name does ring a bell. EFPA was so long ago; Maeve only remembers the secret gambling ring Perci led. And how Noah always had so many friends.

(She did too, but even Gemma doesn't recall that.)

"Nath—Nate? That Nate? The one I dragged into helping Perci run his gambling ring?" The one she cut contact with in her second year of Harvard because of _reasons_?

Behind Daphne, Nate leans into the door. Short, wavy black hair, hazel eyes. Some tan, minimalistic clothes that could come from the well-dressed Schreave Real Estate employees. "That Nate, yeah. Long time no see, Maeve."

Part of Maeve screams, _Oh no, this will not go well, girl. Harvard. Second year. You _remember _that._ Her stomach twists, but then again, it _has_ been what—two years, now? Even longer since they last met in person?

"You're the one Mary made Noah tutor in Mandarin," she remembers. She remembers more, of course. But that's Harvard Second Year and we don't talk about that. "And Noah turned out to be a terrible teacher. Oh gosh, why is this coming back only now?"

(Maybe, she had forgotten on purpose.)

"He's better at teaching surfing, I think."

"Yeah."

"And you're _that_ girl, the one everybody knew. Gemma Maeve Schreave."

"People definitely know my name _now_," she huffs.

"Estelle?" Nate asks. "I heard that all. Must be a nightmare."

Daphne nods. "There've been quite a few journalists coming by. Security knows to not let anyone through."

"There've been journalists here?" he tenses.

"Yes, though, not in the last days though," Daphne waves it off. It's always been that way—except they usually work for business magazines and not the Vogue Illéa trying to figure out what's up with Estelle and the Hack™. "Why don't you two head out, grab something to eat or so?" Daphne suggests. Is she setting them up? _Mum, no! Not Nate! Anybody but him! There are more than two boys in Illéa; try someone else! _"I heard a really nice Italian restaurant recently opened around the block?"

"Do you want us out, Daphne?" Nate asks, with a chuckle.

She laughs. "Yes. I've got a television show I want to watch, and Gemma needs to socialise."

"I literally talk to clients all day, at work!"

"Emphasis on clients." If Daphne could, she'd shove them out of the door. She can't—wheelchair—and thus only turns around and moves to the living room, leaving Maeve and Nate in the hallway.

_You might as well catch up with him._

"How long were you waiting?" Maeve asks Nate in the lift. "Mum didn't know how long I'd be out."

"Not long. I was around and had been planning to drop by anyways. You're busy, aren't you?" he reminds her. "Where have you been? We lost contact, back when you were at Harvard."

"I know," Maeve forces a smile. "_So_ much work with my masters… I'm sorry."

"It's really weird," Nate laughs, "with my brother being there and missing out on you."

"College life, huh. How about you? Last time I checked, you were interning for the Vogue?"

"Vogue or Tom Ford—one of them. I think it was just when I came back from Sorbonne?"

"What are you up to, now?" Maeve asks. "I'm stuck with houses—how about you?"

"As you do." Nate nods. "I've been running my blog. Fashion commentary—I've collaborated with a bunch of magazines, as a guest writer. Despite Noah's inability to teach Mandarin, I've worked in Beijing."

"_You yisi_." That _is _cool, Maeve admits. _Celeste was addicted to the Vogue, last time I checked_. "I ended up teaching English in Hong Kong. It was eye-opening to live there again." And she misses it. The realness of it. The lack of 'this is Illéa, this is me being Gemma Maeve Schreave, the you-have-to-be-the-social-queen-b-because-of-who-your-grandma-is'.

"What do you mean? Taught?"

"After I finished my masters, I ended up going to Hong Kong for a bit. English teaching, you know? It was a nice opportunity to connect with my mum's family and practice my Cantonese with someone that's not mum."

"Wasn't your father _terrible_ at it?" Nate remembers. "

"He got better over the years," Maeve defended Christian. "Not everyone can speak five languages."

"Says the girl whose only hobby is languages. Gemma, I've known you since you dragged me into Perci's ring. You speak what—six languages?"

"A bit more," Gemma grins. "So, fashion commentary. Has that come from your degree, I assume?"

"When I wrote for the IU student paper, that was an attempt on serious journalism. I wrote the politics section, remember?"

"I like languages, you liked international relations. I remember how we got along," Maeve laughs. _Gosh, this is awkward. Gemma, get your shit together. You're friends. Everything outside Illéa—that's Maeve. You're back._ "Right—I remember. I'm sorry. I've met so many people…" A_nd tried to forget others._

"The blog was just a hobby. Not so sure how it blew up. Maybe because I had the contacts to get the right photos and all, through my mum. I didn't intend for it to get that big. You remember how I planned to go into law school?"

Maeve nods. "That's not a thing anymore?"

Nate shrugs. "Trust fund, ads, and the occasional sponsorship keep me going perfectly fine. Do you think your mum meant that restaurant, there?" he points towards one at the road, with a few people dining here. "This is Likely—probably for your average business man's after-work dinner?"

"It's Sunday. We'll get a spot," Maeve determines, and walks up to the front desk. "A table for two, please."

The hotel is not extraordinary, definitely not five stars, and they're going to dine for below hundred dollars. That's good news. Very good news, actually, for Maeve's conscience. They sit down and order their food.

"I'd think, my mum found this one on her way to work," Maeve thinks out loud.

"What's with that joke of her never socializing?" Nate wonders. "I get dragged to all these events by my cousins."

"How _are_ your cousins?"

Nate laughs. He's _lots _of cousins. "Which one? I have enough of them. Georgie's doing well in Britain, from what I know. Seraphina is still active in horse riding," Nate goes on, emphasizing the not-professional-term for equestrianism, "and Adelina is still in North Carolina. Did you ever end up visiting her?"

She planned to. She didn't, though. "No, unfortunately. College."

"What have you been up to, today? Probably not hanging out with cousins?"

Maeve forces a smile. Never, if she could choose not to. "No. Fun story, actually, I broke into the Andromeda Project." She laughs.

"Andromeda—don't they have a control policy not unlike the Illéa Palace?"

"Yes. It's a long story, involving running away from a friends' mother," she laughs. "Another friend of mine got us out, though." That makes it sound like she has many friends.

"You're up to _strange_ things these days, Gemma Schreave. First, Estelle and now this? How do I not know that you're up to something?"

(That's not what she wants to talk about.)

"I get dragged into things," she shuts the conversation down. No need to discuss that. Nate wouldn't do that—he's always been somewhat aloof—to most people. Either Daphne has talked him into something, or he's still awfully comfortable around her. Even after she cut contact. She sighs.

"What were you up to?"

"Just helping some friends," he replies.

"Friends? Who?"

"You wouldn't know them," Nate replies. "A bunch of people I befriended through my connections in IU." Illéa University. Probably the alma mater of most rich kids in Illéa (at least those that didn't go abroad, like her...).

"Ah." Thinking about friends, Maeve tenses. The food arrives—distracting Nate from her face—and allows Maeve an excuse to worry. Nate comes from EFPA too. Perci, Noah, and probably all the other chat kids too (they have to, it's EFPA) will come from there if it's anyhow elitist. "So, you only hang out with IU kids, nowadays?"

(Elizabeth Feller Preparatory Academy. Bethany Schreave High School. Illéa University. The three names that _should _have been on her CV.)

Nate leans back. "I do have other friends. I ended up reconnecting with Perci, actually. I saw you two at the Cotillion."

"Why didn't you say hi?"

Nate crosses his arms. "To be fair, you were always with the other debs."

(He just doesn't want to be around Illéa's current gossip.)

"Not a valid excuse!" she insists.

Nate leans back. "Georgie was here for the Cotillion, and I ended up being with her and her husband for the night. I forgot about it, because they kept me busy and distracted."

"Ah." Maeve can't hide her disappointment either way. "What did you think of the Cotillion?"

"They went overboard with the rose theme," he comments. "I felt a little overdone, but I can't say that it didn't look good in the end. I liked the bouquets of the debs, but I'm no florist."

"Just a fashion commentator."

"Most girls had pretty dresses, but that Lowell girl? You know, Samantha Lowell's niece? She just copied a deb from last year who was on the cover of _Allure_. It was cringy. The dress looked _so _2018." He chuckles. Maeve laughs, too, because obviously this is fun and people are totally not saying she wore a random dress, and _not _a designer one. "You wore a dress by Lucy Leger, the indie designer, didn't you? Or was it Mary? They have such a similar style..."

Maeve grumps. "Yeah. It's _not_ from Zara, no matter what people are saying."

"That's the risk with indie designers and rumours. Why didn't you go for a more established designer?"

"Cheaper," Maeve admitted. "The whole Cotillion ordeal is expensive enough. I'm glad that I don't have to repeat deb balls here." She shrugs. "Oh, and, also, supporting indie designers and local and what not, you know? I want to—"

"Haven't you worn a lot of Chanel and so on?" Nate asks, confused. Why would she be concerned about wasting money when she wore name brands, he probably thought.

"Anna—a friend of mine—went shopping with me and took the reins. If you have suggestions, go ahead. Going by her, my closet was _unacceptable_. The price tag is what's unacceptable."

Nate says, "Let me take you shopping at some point. We can work over that style issue of yours."

_Style issue!?_

"Sure—I'd love to. Take me, take me," Maeve laughs. "I'm sure you know the secret goldmines in the city."

"I like to think that," Nat muses.

They talk more; about secret hotspots and fun places to go to in Illéa, including his favorite cinema—not too far away—and a lovely little café in Waverly. By now, they've finished their meal. Though considering getting a coffee afterwards, they don't. Instead, Maeve takes initiative.

(She's meant to settle down, after all.)

"Why don't we check out your little cinema. Maybe there's a good movie on?" She hasn't been in the cinema in ages. She couldn't tell.

"Sure—why not? I think a movie Juan Santiago is in is in the cinemas right now. The one where birds aren't real? I think that's where that pigeon meme comes from…"

* * *

"I can't believe you're going shopping, and you didn't invite me!" Anna exclaims. In the middle of the office. Of a real estate business. Of which her mum is in charge. Yes, that poor intern in the corner looks confused.

"It came out of the blue?" Maeve defends, "and you sound like a 'best friend' in some sappy high school movie."

"Did you and your shopping buddy watch sappy high school movies?"

"No, we watched a movie about pigeon spies."

"Ah, Juan Santiago's new one. Is Gabby taking you?"

"No." That doesn't mean she wouldn't mind going shopping with them. If they weren't in Noah's elite club. If she wasn't the weird outsider.

"Who then? I know all your friends."

"Nate. Nathaniel Montgomery-Romilly."

"_Nathaniel Montgomery-Romilly!? _The fashion commentator? You _know _him?"

"He's just a childhood friend," she replies, shrugs, and hands her a folder. "Get that down to accounting, please."

"'_He's just a childhood friend_'," Anna mocks, "We're talking about _the _Nathaniel Montgomery-Romilly here!" She takes the folder. "Remind me, why don't we digitise this stuff?" Anna asks, throwing it into a bin marked 'down to accounting, please'.

"Cybersecurity?" Maeve shrugs. "Hand in a suggestion to management."

"But that's work!" Anna complains, "Can't I just tell you?"

Maeve looks up, deadpans. "… I mean, I'm totally onto organisation changes when my grandma wants me to find a boyfriend and I've been avoiding my friends for the whole week?"

"Right—which you did because _why_ again? Did Perci do something at the Cotillion? _I_ wasn't there—I couldn't know. Tell me." It's probably a not-so-subtle hint that she wants to be invited. Gemma discards it. Anna may be like a sister to her, but the Cotillion is another thing.

"Nah, don't worry. You can come along though—let me just ask Nate if he's cool with it." Maeve leans against her desk and pulls out her smartphone. She has chatted with Cassia (who, responsibly, is looking into what she'll do here in Illéa and is also responsibly avoiding her mother—not that Maeve hasn't replied to any of Sia's, Perci's and Gabby's messages—which weren't many though) and mostly worked. _Gotta prove mum that I plan to stay_.

(For now)

* * *

_**/ Private Messages with Nate Montgomery-Romilly**_ (NateNate11)

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): is it ok when a friend from work comes today

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): she's giving me a hard time for not inviting her

**Nate** (NateNate11): Sure! Do you mind if I bring along some people too? Then we'll be a bigger group, too. Helps with avoiding nasty people.

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): Nasty people?

**Nate** (NateNate11): Paparazzi.

**Maeve** (gemmaeve): yikes. if you think it'll help, sure.

* * *

(She will regret that answer very soon.)

"You're in."

"Ooh, rich kid shopping trip? I better take my good handbag."

Maeve frowns. "I've only ever seen you with one."

"That's because I don't go shopping. It's _sad_."

"You earn like seventy-five-thousand dollars a year."

"Rent in Illéa sucks, and I'm saving."

"For what? Retirement? You're not even thirty!" Maeve laughs, and leans over the desk to fetch her own bag. It includes her lovely unlimited credit card and other things out of Anna's price range. No need to throw that in her face, she decides. A final look at today's work pile (empty), and Maeve decides it's time to finish work. "Ready to go?"

"Now?" Anna asks. "I gotta get that down to accounting!"

Maeve shakes her head, and sighs, "Then let's get this down to accounting and go."

That's how the lowly people from accounting get to meet the future CEO of Schreave Real Estate, and how Maeve learns where accounting is actually located. That's also how Anna gets dragged into Maeve's beloved red car (she brought the car to work, because while she loves her bike, who knows _how much _they'll buy) and complains about not having a driver.

("Why am I hanging out with rich kids, when we don't do the whole deal?" kind of thing.)

Nate told her to meet at the Hansport Promenade's Starbucks. Easy to find, lots of people and yes, both her memory and his reputation prove that Nathaniel Remington Montgomery-Romilly takes his privacy very seriously. Anna disagrees with that idea—she'd probably make her bank account public—but that's up to her and her only. (Maeve envies him.)

At Starbucks, because she's enough of a VSCO girl to do that, she gets herself a rainbow Frappuccino without even knowing its taste and snaps a bunch of photos with it (and Anna messing around in the background) for Instagram. It's when she actually starts drinking (Anna got a normal coffee) that Nate shows up. And his friends.

Poppy Astor and Perci Santos.

Talk about avoiding chat kids, huh.

"Maeve, hey!" Nate greets her and hugs her like the old friend he is. Maeve does so, with the best acting abilities she has masking her frown. Cue repeating that with Poppy and Perci. Great. Really. She should've guessed that (somehow).

After the awkward introduction of Anna (who knows all three of them, apparently, but they don't know her; Maeve envies her ability not to be awkward like Maeve is), they make their way through Hansport's street. There's a reason why this part of Illéa is known to be _the_ shopping centre of Illéa; boutiques, chains and stores are squeezed at the large promenades' sides. The buildings are as close to another as she knows them to be in old European cities. Bags, logos and opening doors echo alongside the music played in cafes and restaurants.

"Where are we going first?" Anna asks Nate. "Chanel's nearby…"

Nate shakes his head. "Way too clunky and middle class."

Anna laughs out. "_Middle class?_ Have you ever seen the price tags—"

"You pay for the brand, not the quality. It's nice from time to time, but it's mainly just brands. Maybe Zara? H&M?"

"I shop there!" Anna complains, laughing. "That's ridiculous!"

"H&M has heaps of basic clothes. Ideal to start outfits. What are we going for, Maeve?"

She shrugs. She gets where they come from, but that doesn't mean that (thanks to a particular set of friends) she minds Chanel. "I don't mind. Work clothes? I got enough evening wear for now. Casual outfits, maybe."

"Works with me. What style are you going for?"

Is it bad that the first thing coming to her mind is "grandma's style"? Probably, given that she's not eighty years old. "Something timeless," she decides to say. Rebecca's style hasn't changed a lot, she thinks.

"Do you mean 'something that a time traveller could wear in 1920', or 'ignore trends and go with something I can wear next season too'?" Poppy asks. She crosses her arms, thinking. It's odd to look at her, carrying a designer bag, elegant leather jacket and black mini skirt, sunglasses and a tee-shirt. So far so cool, except the t-shirt has _Pokémon _on it. And the whole thing _works_. She could've been in the Seventeen...

"Ignore trends."

"I assumed," Nate laughs. "That's easy. If it's for work, we'd probably want to go for a mature look?"

Maeve nods. "That's what I like to think I wear."

"No, you don't," Anna laughs.

"Don't bully Gemma," Poppy chuckles. "She looks good."

"Thank you!" Maeve beams.

"… I'll just follow along," Perci determines. "How about I invite you all for a round—"

Poppy rolls her eyes, "We're not going to gamble at your casino, Perci. We'd all just lose money."

Nate laughs. "I worked for you. I know that you don't win in gambling."

Perci shakes his head, but knows better than to oppose them. Instead, he follows them along as they head to H&M, to Anna's dismay (who, honestly, is here to watch thousands of dollars being spent). A mixture of "this fits your figure" and "ooh, look, this compliments your eyes" later, they have her basics covered and move on to other stores. Perci becomes the designated bag carrier. Good man.

(And more importantly, Maeve forgets the chat.)

"Hey, Maeve?" Perci asks, eventually, when they are on their way to checking out Poppy's favourite makeup store. "Are you doing alright? I tried to message you over the week, and you haven't responded. If the—"

"Oh, I was just busy with work," Maeve lies seamlessly. She's practised this.

"If these girls got to you, they're just jealous."

Jealous of what? That she isn't in the group chat of the fancy rich kids? "Again, I was just busy," she repeats, laughing. She bits on her lip and makes an effort to catch up with Anna.

Perci doesn't bring it up for the rest of the day. Maeve can't say that she isn't glad for that. She listens to Poppy talking about what base colour to use for the outfits they have gotten, and lets her have a go on her own face. Maeve's happy with how she does her makeup, but anything is good to not talk about _the chat_.

(She manages.)

The sun nears the roofs of the shops and buildings when they sit down in a café for a drink and moment of recovery. Poor Perci has quite a few bags to carry. Each of them orders a drink, they talk about this and that, and Maeve listens in.

(She's totally not crazy when catching all these things that scream chat in their words.)

"Isn't the _Love Report o_n, now?" Poppy suddenly, and out of the blue, asks.

Nate and Perci simultaneously check the time too. "It is."

"Wanna turn in?" she suggests, already pulling up the livestream on her phone. The café is empty—most people would be eating dinner now, Maeve guesses, and even if someone came to them telling them to turn off the phone, wouldn't they just go and buy the café or something? Probably.

"Sure," Nate agrees. Personally, Maeve doesn't—for obvious reasons. Estelle is sweet and all, but _the rumours_.

They catch Estelle at the end of a conversation with a caller, and listen for a while. It's nothing extraordinary (rather than that, it, in fact, feels like high school drama) that she talks about, but Maeve gasps why people listen to it. Other people's problems are such a nice distraction.

"How about you guys?" Poppy asks. "Anything interesting in your love life? Besides Perci who tries to flirt with everyone?" she teases.

"Nah," Anna laughs. "I am married to my job."

"Good," Maeve laughs, determined not to discuss her own love life. "You do a good job at it."

"Don't I technically work for your mum?"

"Details. How about you two?" she asks Nate and Poppy.

Poppy sighs. "No, not really… It'd be nice, but no."

"Same for me," Nate quickly adds. "Maeve?"

There are a bunch of boys she would, theoretically, be interested in, but something tells her that each and every single one of them is in said group chat and alone thinking about that makes her heart heavy. Yes, she wouldn't mind dating handsome Juan Santiago or kind Perci Santos. Maybe even others (except, of course, Alex Langston and Griff Vael, she thinks), but if Nate is friends with Perci and Poppy, then surely he is part of the chat too. Juan is Gabby's brother, and Angel was a friend of Juan. It's hopeless, really. She could try, but to what avail?

"No, nothing," she says.

(Anna raises her eyebrows, and gets a glare as response.)

Her phone rings. Maeve recognises it (her current ring tone is a song from some Korean girl group and she doubts anyone else here has that) and leans to fetch her phone out of her bag. It's her mum. She gives the others an apologetic smile and a "I have to take that, be right back", and heads away from the café.

"I'm out with friends, is this important?"

"Yes," Daphne replies, "Do you remember the deal for hat office building in Lakedon?"

"Yes…?"

"I just got the finalisation. We want this done before Christmas; the current aim is the twenty-third. I want you to do the sale."

"Okay, and why are you telling me this now?" Maeve asks, a tad annoyed. "Couldn't that have waited until tomorrow? Or, you know, have Anna just put it into my calendar?"

"I appreciate your confidence, but this is a big sale. I need to know for sure that you're confident that you can do it."

"I—Mum, I'm out with friends. I can't just drive back to work. This has been in my calendar for almost a week. Why would I not be able to do it? I thought everything was arranged, and it's just signing papers and some business dinner?"

"It is. It's more that I'm a bit worried about the client."

"That sounds awfully ominous, mum. Are you worried it'll fall through?"

"To be honest, yes. I don't want that to be attached to your name, but I have other appointments that week that I can't move either."

"It'll be fine. Let's talk about it tomorrow, or when I'm back home," Maeve assures her. "I can't tell you if it'll work now—or do you need it _now_-now?"

(Surprisingly, when it comes to work, Maeve can be rational.)

"I'm sending the invitation to the dinner," Daphne replies, "and I need a name to put into it. Who'll be there."

"Go with 'a representative from Schreave Real Estate'? If it's not you or me, who'd you send?"

"Not sure. It's a big sale and start of, maybe, an important relationship. I wouldn't want this to go through with some nobody."

"Write representative, or maybe 'the team working here with you'?" she suggests. "Is that all you need now?"

There's a break while Daphne notes it down. "No. Thanks. Love you, have fun with your friends, honey."

"Love you, bye."

The call ends. Call reminds Maeve of something else, though. Estelle is online right now, and while Cassia's suggestion on trying to live her life without the chat kids might be a good idea in general, it feels one thing: impossible. They're too much in her life already. She hopes, Estelle Mun has a bit better advice.

Once more, she doesn't find herself waiting in the line of callers. Not that Gemma Maeve Schreave would ever notice—she's far beyond that—but she's only told to wait a bit, she's up next. A brief talk through how she's not asked to fangirl or anything, so they can get through as many callers as possible.

(Does she once think of her friends listening? No.)

"Hello there, and welcome to _The Love Report_! This is Estelle Mun talking. Why don't you introduce yourself to our audience?" the radio host greets her a few moments later.

Maeve takes a deep breath. Time to go back to valley girl!Maeve. "Hey girl! It's me, America Singer. I am _so so so _sorry to bother you again, but I totally need your help because you are like, the best advice giver I've ever heard!"

"Oh, hey!" Estelle sounds surprised, but friendly nonetheless. Great. Someone appreciating her. "Welcome back on the show! How are you doing?"

"I am doing well! Well, actually, no. I have these friends and all, but they're all like in this totally secret, totally exclusive group chat. Of course they can do like, anything the want but whenever we are out and about I feel hella excluded. It's like I'm a second class friend and it's totally buggin' me that I don't know what to do! I really really really want to hang out with them and stuff, but it's not like fun when I feel like that."

Estelle listens in closely. "I see what's going on. You're worried that if you end up dating someone, you will be excluded from their friend circle?"

"Like, totally!"

"It's great to hear that you want to be part of their friend group." She pauses, thinking. Probably because Maeve's goal in dating isn't, you know, finding a significant other to love, but to find someone to present to her grandma and get that money. "What is stopping you from being part of it? Do they actively exclude you?"

Yes. Noah is. Surely, he's involved in this. Everyone, probably, is. She really has to get into that group chat—but she can't say that. Anyone who knows her or them will understand, won't they? "It's just that I they have any like, common interest or anything like that. have no real connection to them. They are from like, all over the world. I'm not really sure if there is a common thing I can do to like, be with them more.

"Are you close to any of them?"

"Like, a few of them, I guess."

"Do you think they could be a key to hanging out with more of the group and befriending with them step by step?" Estelle suggests. "That being said, I wouldn't recommend forcing yourself into a friend group just because you like someone. If you don't work out together, it'll only affect everyone negatively. Try, but don't force."

Maeve nods. That, she can do. Maybe hang out with Gabby? Maybe she can even play wingman someday? "I'll totally try that! You're the bestest, Estelle!"

"Good luck!" Estelle wishes.

The call ends. Maeve smiles, returns to the others. Poppy is closely listening to the Report. Walking back took a moment; Estelle is probably onto the next caller, she reasons. "What's going on?" she asks.

"You just missed America!" Poppy announces. "You can probably catch up online, though."

"America?" Maeve frowns.

"Yeah, that girl with the forced marriage? Haven't you heard of her? America Singer?" she asks. "Lots of people are talking about her."

"I don't usually listen to the show," Maeve replies, truthfully. She sits down again. Estelle finishes the next caller. Poppy already reaches out for her phone—to turn it off, so she can explain America—when the next call starts.

And Maeve's heart goes into freefall.

"HELLO ESTELLE."

(Suffice to say, Maeve panics.)

Maeve's eyes are glued onto the phone. The others react, but she doesn't gasp it. It's the hacker again. He's there, again, and what will he say? _What will he do this time? Is this about me? What is he going to say? Does he know I'm America? What's he gonna say? Everyone is going to think IamisbehindthisallandtheywillhatemeevenifIhaventdoneasinglething!_

Estelle cries out in fear.

"APOLOGIES FOR THE INTERRUPTION. I DO HAVE SOME TEA TO SPILL."

"Go away!" she cries.

"SAMANTHA LOWELL IS CHEATING ON HER HUSBAND WITH HER CHAUFFEUR."

_Who? Lowell? As in Grace Lowell? Why—what do they have to dowithmewhatdotheywantfrommegoawayIdidntdoanything!_

"TAKE A LOOK AT—" The voice cuts out. First, Maeve thinks that Estelle cut him out, but Poppy's hand is on her phone.

"What's going on?" Nate asks, almost as frightened as Estelle Mun.

"Let's not give them more views," Poppy decides, almost too calmly. "Whoever this is, they want attention, clearly. We can do a part in not giving it… Gemma, are you alright? You're as white as a ghost."

She's not. She's white, she's trembling and—_fuckwhoeverisdoingthisgooutofmylifeIdontdeservethis_. Anna kindly rubs her shoulder. "Maevy?"

"What's going on? Who is this?" she asks, near tears. "Why—?"

She feels guilt, because she shouldn't feel glad. She shouldn't be glad that instead of her name, it's Samantha Lowell, someone she doesn't even know. But she is. That doesn't mean that whoever is out there, doing whatever they do, isn't gone. This hacker knew she was back, but he could have gotten that from her Instagram. An affair? Unless it's the chauffeur, it makes it _scary_. What else can they do?

"This is like Gossip Girl, or what it's called," Perci says, concerned.

"What do you mean?" Nate asks.

Perci shows them his phone. It's a Twitter account, already being followed by a few people despite its creation date, today, and its few tweets. Photos of a middle aged woman and a man in chauffeur's uniform, kissing. At multiple places, in multiple dresses. "Literally. The username, look. GossipGirlIlléa1912."

"This is a joke," Nate huffs. "This has to be a joke!"

"Samantha Lowell is _known_ for her perfect marriage. She just gave birth to her first child. If I'm not wrong, she is even on the Cotillion committee."

"Not after this," Nate mutters. "The Lowells are such an old family—this is going to taint their name for years."

"Samantha's name more than the Lowells. Her husband is just the poor soul here."

"Who knows why _she_ cheated." Anna doesn't help a lot in stopping the rumours.

"The Lowells don't matter here! Whoever did this does!" Maeve cries out. "Anyone could be next. Me wasn't the only time; if they don't find him, then anything could be next!"

Anything. Any secret or what else they hide from the rest of the world. Her grandmother's demands. Her grandmother's illness, even! What led to her dad leaving. Harvard. America Singer, even.

(That night, Gemma Maeve Schreave does not sleep well.)

* * *

By the time the police are done with the studio, all the workers, have all data, and security, and whatever they want, Estelle's makeup is ruined. Her day is too, and Ginny's shirt probably as well. She sits in her arms in the studio's designated break room (the kitchen) where the small team of Love Incorporated usually holds their company lunches. The Love Report star and her sound operator are alone, though.

"Do you want a ride home?" Ginny offers.

"Hmhm."

She couldn't even say why she's still crying. Like the detective (the same from last time) assured her, there's nobody in the building, and Estelle knows, a computer can't suddenly turn into a monster and eat her. It's irrational, a voice from her memories tells her, but Estelle cries nonetheless.

(It's scary, because she doesn't understand it.)

"What do you think does he want?" she asks, quietly. Stanley Hepburn, their kind but eccentric boss, is still speaking with the detectives, alongside the studio's communications director.

"Wreak havoc?" Ginny suggests, though her words are meaningless. She has cried too. Always prided herself into being 'the best sound operator that ever was', it frightens her to lose control just as much as it frightens Estelle to be in that room with lights gone dark. "Maybe it's a personal thing?"

"What do Gemma Schreave and Samantha Lowell have in common?" Estelle asks. She barely knows either.

"They're rich? Maybe it was blackmailing?"

"The cops would have told us," Estelle wants to believe, even if she knows they don't always do. "They questioned Gemma, and surely, they will do the same with Samantha."

Ginny's one hand holds her phone. She hasn't told Estelle yet—to protect her, she assumes—but she saw the Twitter account and the photos. More than one of them are inside—at locations where no stalker should get!

They aren't safe from cameras in here.

That hacker could expose her identity just as easily as Samantha's affair.

"Do you want a ride now?" Ginny repeats.

They live on opposite ends of town. "I can't make you drive all the way to my home." Her voice is so void, so empty, so sad—she doesn't even recognise it. And Estelle has heard her voice quite often.

Ginny shrugs. "I won't let you go out there alone. We can grab dinner?"

"I don't want anyone seeing me with you," Estelle reminds her. It sounds colder than she intended. She looks down. "I don't mean it—"

But she chuckles. "Don't worry, I know. Nobody can know, and my friends know where I work. Let me at least drive you; or call you an Uber, if that's what works for you."

Estelle Mun rises, placing aside the hot chocolate cup she had been clinging on. "No, it's fine. Not here, either way."

Mr Stan enters the break room, communications director—her name is Sylvia—attached. They talk—something about media releases and all. Things Estelle usually doesn't care about. She doesn't do this for the fame (or she would tell people her real name) or money. She wants to help!

(Not be hacked by some super untraceable hacker!)

"Are you alright, girls?" he asks, like a concerned old father. "Anything I can do for you?"

The two shake their heads. "And today went so well…" Ginny sighs. "We even got America back! Social media was all over her. Now it's—yeah."

"Ah, the bittersweetness of high school drama!" Mr Stan exclaims. Neither of the girls make an effort to react. "Do head home, you two. You must sleep well tonight!"

With an elegance that Ginny can't claim, Estelle rises from the old sofa and nods. "I will try."

"Lovely, dear. Don't worry. We will have everything under control! The power of love will conquer all!" he announces.

He could be wearing a Sailor Moon cosplay and be taken more seriously, but that's what she appreciates in him. His positivity—she needs it now. Even if his days as master comedian Gavril Fadaye are long over, he never fails to cheer them up. With her boss' okay to leave, she bids Ginny goodbye, promises that she will stay safe and leaves the studio through the back exit, with hood and sunglasses and face mask, just in case a nasty reporter once again thinks it good to attack her here—_now_.

As she strolls past high towering buildings to the street, she glances over to her phone. Noah Schreave messaged her, almost concerned. As always, he pretends not to know—even if she has long come to understand that he knows as to whom she moonlights as. He came to her after Gemma (though, she assumes it was because of their relation and family), and he comes now, too. Always kind, just as he is known to be to everyone in Illéa.

(Noah Schreave knows many secrets.)

That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate him adding her (work) account to that infamous, quite crazy group chat, but it gave her the opportunity to distance herself from that chat and the implication it holds. Poor Alex and Griff—she almost expects their crazy fans to write stories about this now too.

Estelle is glad that her own fans are understanding and well-wishing. Not that she doesn't know about the many haters being a person of public interest brings with itself, but she is not ignorant of the status she holds in Illéa. She would be a fool to do so.

(The myriad of politicians asking for endorsements is proof.)

But as she heads to her humble home, Estelle Mun leaves that life of _The Love Report_ and its people behind her. The kind, relatable radio host is left behind in favour of another persona. She sheds her hoodie, glasses and face mask in favour of the outer, of another world. A world where such drama and gossip are as common as sand.

The world of the super-rich is many things. It comes with ups and downs. Today, more than one of its perks come in her favour.

* * *

**Chapter Summary:**

After returning Cassia home, Maeve runs into her childhood friend Nate, a fashion journalist whom she has been purposefully avoiding since they lost touch. They catch up over dinner and movies, and agree to meet up again after Maeve's closet comes up once more. Anna forces herself into the little group of Poppy, Nate, Perci and Maeve, and together, they go out to town. Besides Anna being utterly surprised by some of Nate's and Poppy's choices, they listen in onto the Love Report. Maeve uses the chance to ask Estelle for advice about feeling excluded from the chat, only to barely miss the hacker returning. He reveals an affair in an established family of the Illéan society. Though he doesn't talk about Maeve this time, Estelle, her team, and Maeve herself are frightened by the prospect of him continuing.

**Next Chapter:** Maeve gets herself a "date" and potentially a heart attack (that is, if Milly remembers the order of chapters correctly)

* * *

_**Author's Note**_

**I would like to officially point out that while ten chapters to meet all OCs may be long, this is not Fallout and that means it's good. The world is going crazy rich now, and I really envy the CRI timeline right now, but please, stay safe, social distance and what not; COVID is very much still a thing. If you're out there in the US, please stay strong. xx Black Lives Matter.**

**Thanks to Soph for helping with the timeline this chapter, thanks to French for helping with Cantonese and thanks to Slyther for helping with valley girl talk. xx**


	14. Intermission II

_**This intermission includes a content warning, fetishization of lgbt+. The section opens with a "CONTENT WARNING START" and closes with "CONTENT WARNING END". Please proceed at your own caution and stop reading if you feel uncomfortable. The scene concerned only contributes to a few character's character arcs, as well as acts as catchup on the cast, and can be omitted.**_

* * *

**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**

**Intermission II**

* * *

The school bell of the Elizabeth Feller Preparatory Academy rings, and with that, crowds of the children of the Illéan elite stream onto the school yard, into the cafeteria and other classes. Even though its tuition matches an average man's yearly income for a trimester alone, EFPA and its partner, Bethany Schreave High School, had the same cliques as any other school. The crazy theatre kids, the nerds, the geeks, the sport fanatics and, of course, the popular rich kids. Among the one percent of the one percent of the one percent, that meant a lot—of pocket money.

These students, and some select few others, don't head out to the cafeteria or the school yard, don't stay inside or else. One is Perci Santos, who guides his friends and fellow students to an almost forgotten entrance to the roof of the gym. They discovered the door to be open not too long ago.

"Welcome, friends!" he greets the giggling primary school students. Some brought along chairs, stolen from the nearby classrooms. Food is shared around, and some children play music—different songs at once—from their music players and phones. Ten years old children in a play casino, what do you imagine? "Are you ready for yet another fun round of chance and fortune?"

In the EFPA Casino, as they have come to call it, Percival Santos managed to addict half of his class to gambling. Morally not acceptable, but he doesn't just get a thrill out of it, but also, more than often, a little extra pocket money. What kind of child is he not to accept _that_.

"What are we doing today?" Gemma Schreave asks. "Your marble game?"

Over the time the secret gambling ring has run, Perci has come to trust a few other children to help him run it. Gemma is one of them, and one of the most daring. She's always fun to watch lose.

They play lots of games. He has taught some kids Poker, too, but mostly the children are more interested in easy games. Uno, his marble game, flipping coins. Guessing cards. Anything like that. Now that he has his little crew, he can fun all of them.

"Later," he promises her. She's been after his special marbles for quite a while. He directs his helpers around, and the children spread out, and they form their circles. Some watch, some play. He doesn't mind either (they all eventually decide to play just once and then keep playing), as long as they all follow the one main rule: you don't talk about the rooftop casino.

(That being said, he never calls it gambling ring in front of them. That's what it is, though.)

"Perci! Let's flip a coin. If it's head, I win and get the marble. If you win, I'll pay you ten dollars," she suggests, jumping up. The bet catches some kids' attention.

"That's not worth it, Gemma. It's a one-of-a-kind one."

"Fifteen."

"No."

"Twenty."

Technically, Perci doesn't play, but he also has a coin with two tails. He could use that one, retain his coin, and while he feels a little guilty, twenty bucks is nothing for Gemma who probably spent hundreds of her pocket money on his gambling ring. He does feel a little bad for her, but Gemma always enjoys it—and she always comes back with more money.

"Deal."

They flip the coin, and unsurprisingly, Perci is twenty dollars richer. As usual, Gemma doesn't take the win easily and demands a rematch, which she loses. Perci vetoes any further games; the other kids will be bored elsewise. He's not going to keep running his little gambling ring without making sure that all his guests are satisfied.

(He learned at young age.)

They keep on playing; now, all kids and chose a side, bet a sum and if they're lucky, get the percentage back they paid. Not the best way for him to make money (there is a sum he takes in every time, a few dollars so they don't realise he always wins) but many are drawn to its simplicity. Perci is, when he's busy with talking to friends or talking someone into doing his homework.

This little casino on the rooftop goes on, every day. Entrance is on a strict base of being invited, given that they can't let any tattletales come in. One of these following days, before all children are even coming, before even he can welcome them all, Gemma speaks up.

"Perci!" Gemma calls out again. "Let's do the coin bet again. I'll win. I want the marble!"

"I'll take tails, you head."

She shakes her head. "I'll say it lands on its side! Neither. I say neither."

Perci deadpans. "That's impossible!"

"I bet on it!" she insists.

Perci shrugs; he's gonna win either way, and if Gemma insists so much… He throws the coin—and freezes. The rooftop is old, with many ripples, and the coin? The one with two tails guaranteeing Perci's win? It's stuck in one of them. Some students actually _clap_.

"Are you psychic or something?" he asks in disbelief.

Gemma puts out her hand, demanding the marble. Perci's too surprised to move. This is impossible! The chance for that to happen is zero! He is flabbergasted. Unable to move. Unable to gasp that this is possible! Him losing, in his own gambling ring? How could this ever happen?

With a grumble, he hands Gemma the marble. At least she's happy, but that doesn't give him back his marble. Gemma beams, and proudly shows off the marble to their friends.

"How'd you do it?" he asks.

"Luck!" she beams.

"You aren't Mister Luck."

"But apparently Fortuna's favourite."

With that and his priced marble, she heads off. He doesn't, per se, despise that fact or mind it—Gemma is one of his best friends and all—but he's distraught nonetheless! He should never lose! Not in his own game. She must have cheated, but that is the same. He has lost.

"I am getting revenge for this one," Perci joke-taunts. He crosses his arms and waves the other kids over. "Welcome, my good friends. I hope that fortune and luck has blessed you today; you will need it. Are you willing to play?"

Gemma grins, "And yet, you're not getting the marble back."

(That day, Perci learns not to underestimate probability.)

* * *

/**_ Love's Guardian Angels (TLR staff chat)_**

**Stanley Hepburn **(MrStan): My dear ladies, I have just received this month's online traffic report. We have a record high! I must invite you to a celebratory dinner after work on Saturday.

**Ginny**** Salvatici **(VirginaSalvatici): fooooood  
**Ginny**** Salvatici **(VirginaSalvatici): not gonna lie, this America Singer is probably the reason for that.  
**Ginny**** Salvatici **(VirginaSalvatici): I may also saved her phone number so we can take her every time lol.

**Estelle Mun **(loveestelle): And I'm fairly sure she got stuck with Alex Langston. Poor kid.

**Ginny Salvatici **(VirginiaSalvatici): Langston is the subject of pretty much 50% of the calls we get.  
**Ginny Salvatici **(VirginiaSalvatici): Did you know that people are writing fanfics about the whole thing? What's with Illéa and writing fanfics about a bunch of rich kids?!

**Estelle Mun **(loveestelle): You shouldn't read fanfics about real-life people that aren't even a couple… They may not be the best people, but it's inappropriate.

**Ginny Salvatici **(VirginiaSalvatici): But some a really good. :(  
**Ginny Salvatici **(VirginiaSalvatici): There was a really good one titled "Children of the Moon" and it portrayed you really well!  
**Ginny Salvatici **(VirginiaSalvatici): I mean, you were a werewolf, but they got your personality right!

**Estelle Mun** (loveestelle): Do I need to make another statement apologising to Vaelston for skyrocketing their ship?

**Ginny Salvatici **(VirginiaSalvatici): Oh, and today, I read one that was about America! People are starting to include her into the whole CRI fandom craze!

**Estelle Mun **(loveestelle): … That's not a good thing, Ginny.

**Ginny Salvatici **(VirginiaSalvatici): Also, Gemma. DID YOU KNOW THAT KAPNOFTHEFLEET THINKS YOU ARE GEMMA?!

**Ginny Salvatici **(VirginiaSalvatici): … Stelle?

**Ginny Salvatici** (VirginiaSalvatici): Don't leave me on read!

**Stanley Hepburn **(MrStan):That maybe was the wrong topic, Miss Salvatici…

* * *

**_/ Crazy Rich Illéans (67 unread messages)_**

**I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world **(OriTheDoll): **NoahTheSurfer** Have you added Gemma yet?

**Not Austrian **(ViennaVanWell): Who's that?

**Twinkle Toes** (AnGeLcAsSiDy): oh is she back from her holiday?

**Don't change your nickname griff **(griff_thegryffindor): She was on a holiday? Didn't she just come back?

**The Child** (GabbyCantHearYou): Do we get kicked out of the gc if we go on holiday?

**I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world** (OriTheDoll): Noah's cousin, Gemma Schreave.

**Get Out of The Aquarium **(NoahTheSurfer): Eeeeeeh  
**Get Out of The Aquarium **(NoahTheSurfer): Honestly…

**The Child** (GabbyCantHearYou): Oh, wait, Maeve is your cousin? the name thing is confusing

**Get Out of The Aquarium** (NoahTheSurfer): Do you know her?

**Pizza **(fioraderossi): I met her on your birthday party.

**Milk Shake Speer #BritainGang **(choikenzie): She was there?!

**Social Butterfly** (mariposamua): You were there?! I didn't see you?!

**Poppin'** bubbles** #BritainGang** (poppypoppypoppy): I just checked her Insta. She seems… alright? A little frivolous, maybe.

**MoneyIsLife **(JuanSantiago): She seems alright. ** NoahTheSurfer** Add her, she's def a crazy rich Illéan if she's your cousin

**Get Out of The Aquarium **(NoahTheSurfer): not gonna lie, I'd prefer not to

**Perci Jackson** (RoundTableRoulette): Why? We went to EFPA together

**Dognapper **(TheKingLangston): smh add her, she's cool

**Ring a Song **(Rinasong): She looks good, I agree.

**Dognapper **(TheKingLangston): gay

**Ring a Song** (Rinasong): Jealous?

**Dognapper **(TheKingLangston): Oh, darling, you have no idea.

**Ring a Song **(Rinasong): Unfortunately, I have too much of an idea.

**Get Out of The Aquarium (**NoahTheSurfer): She's an asshole, to be honest.

**Don't change your nickname griff **(griff_thegryffindor): worse than alex?!

**Get Out of The Aquarium **(NoahTheSurfer): Do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?

**Ring a Song **(Rinasong): Ordered by Alex's one-night stand at the time, thank you.

**Get Out of The Aquarium** (NoahTheSurfer): It goes back to primary school.

**Ring a Song **(Rinasong): I stand by my word.

**Dognapper** (TheKingLangston): im not _that_ bad rina

**Don't change your nickname griff** (griff_thegryffindor): what abou

**Don't change your nickname griff** (griff_thegryffindor): fucking enter

**Dognapper **(TheKingLangston): shut up or im telling abel.

**Get Out of The Aquarium **(NoahTheSurfer): You _really_ don't want to be around her. Promise.

* * *

**_/ Private Messages with Estelle Mun _**_(loveestelle)_

**Ginny Salvatici** (VirginiaSalvatici)**: **okay so  
**Ginny Salvatici** (VirginiaSalvatici): I got this email today, right? It came from Choi Vacation something something and it talked about how I had just won a vacation to Hawaii and just had to enter my details. I did, and I still haven't heard back from them? Do I call them? Do I wait a bit more? It's been a week. Please help xx  
**Ginny Salvatici** (VirginiaSalvatici): Also my bank account was apparently hacked? I love almost all my savings and I noticed today.

**Estelle Mun** (loveestelle): Ginny, you were scammed.  
**Estelle Mun** (loveestelle): Happy to help you for the time of being, though. Just let me know if you need anything.

* * *

**_/ Beach club_**

**Noah** (NoahTheSurfer): Do you two have a moment? I need to talk this through with someone.

**Ori **(OriTheDoll): Sure. What's up?

**Noah** (NoahTheSurfer): So, Gemma got me this wall deco thing with sand from all kinds of beaches. It's fancy and actually thoughtful and all, but I can't help feel like it's her just showing off again.

**Kenzie** (choikenzie): She did mention her travels a bit _a lot_…

**Noah** (NoahTheSurfer): I really want to enjoy it and all, but I just can't help but think it's just her bragging again.

**Ori **(OriTheDoll): Yikes… This isn't really something you could talk about with her, would it?

**Noah** (NoahTheSurfer): No, I definitely can't. Any suggestions on what is the right thing to do?

**Kenzie** (choikenzie): Use it, or she can pretend to be the better person. Maybe, you could put it somewhere where you aren't a lot? I doubt Gemma will ever come to your flat. Maybe give it to your flat mates for the living space they occupy?

**Noah** (NoahTheSurfer): Hmmm I'll think about it.

* * *

**_/ Private Messages with Gabby Sanitago_**_ (GabbyCantHearYou)_

**Alessia de Rossi **(fioraderossi)**: **Maeve's idea is good. You should go with Simi, and I go with Juan. Simi speaks sign language, and I don't need to deal with the boys. Simi works as model from time to time, so I'm sure you'd have a common interest.

**Gabby Santiago** (GabbyCantHearYou): At this rate, that's the best idea. Juan is scaring everyone away… L

**Alessia de Rossi **(fioraderossi)**: **Also, let's stay at the bar; I think we're causing Maeve problems with talking to the men here.

**Gabby Santiago** (GabbyCantHearYou): Yikes! Yes, let's do that. Poor girl ended up with Simi + Juan fending off any possible dude.

**Alessia de Rossi **(fioraderossi)**: **She's talking to one now, though?

**Gabby Santiago** (GabbyCantHearYou): That's Angel Cassidy. He's the boyfriend of an influencer I know. They've got a kid.

**Alessia de Rossi **(fioraderossi)**: **… then she's got real bad luck.

* * *

**_/ Private Messages with Harry Guyer _**_(HarryPotterGenderswapped)_

**Angel (**AnGeLcAsSiDy): add one to the 'someone thinking harry's a guy' counter

* * *

**_/ Text Messages with Maevy Schreave_**

**Maevy Schreave**: Do you happen to know what happened between Noah and Vienna?

**Anna Lee**: dont quote me but I'm pretty sure vienna wanted more than noah out of the relationship, which made noah realise that he didn't like her as much as before, and he broke off. Vienna accuses Kenzie Choi of being between them or something, and she cried for weeks. Also slept with Alex Langston. Seems to be customary. Then she disappeared to Vienna, the city, 'coincidentally over his birthday' to avoid him.

* * *

_**/ Private Messages with Noah Schreave **(Noah the Surfer)_

**Perci** (RoundTableRoulette): Hey, Noah? What's exactly up with Maeve and her not being added to the gc? I get that we never had real rules as to who gets added, but I've met her a few times. She doesn't seem that bad.

**Noah** (NoahTheSurfer): You haven't seen the whole deal. She can be nice and all, but believe me. She's more drama than Kenzie and Vienna together on a sinking ship. Besides that, it's our friend group. Have you ever even seen Gemma at the Goldfinger or the surf club?

**Perci** (RoundTableRoulette): How often do you see me at the beach? How often do you see Sia at either?

**Noah** (NoahTheSurfer): yeah, we don't, because she's pretty damn busy. Believe me. Gemma just means trouble.

**Perci** (RoundTableRoulette): Why exactly do you keep saying that?

**Noah** (NoahTheSurfer): think stereotypical rich brat. Always, when we were younger. Also, what she pulled at my birthday was just sad. We have enough drama already, and we don't need more.

* * *

**_/ Marisol Santos_**

**Percival Santos:** Marisol, what is going on with your new blog post?

**Marisol Santos:** I have no idea what kind of blog you mean, brother.

**Percival Santos:** There's only one.

**Marisol Santos:** I have none.

**Percival Santos:** Reginald has been onto that with your Vaelston blog for ages.

**Marisol Santos:** I have no idea what that butler is talking about.

* * *

**CONTENT WARNING START: FETISHIZATION OF LGBT+**

* * *

**_KaptnOfTheFleet: For the newcomers: Who is Who In The CRI Chat!_**

Hello everyone and welcome to my newest blog post!

With recent news and the whole thing about someone hacking Estelle, a bunch of people have found our little lovely fandom and I'm here to introduce you to who this is actually about. Just FYI, I'm a huuuuuge Vaelston fan and it's canon, don't listen to the haters, they're homophobic.

"CRI" is actually short for Crazy Rich Illéans which yes, is a reference to Crazy Rich Asians. You could argue that Illéa is closer to Asia than any other continent, but that's not what this is about. Yes, some people say pacific, but hey, I'm not a geography expert. It's somewhere on the left of the date line. The chat hasn't always been known as such, but this name has been the general name (besides 'the Chat' which sounds really ominous and I like to use it, or just 'the Group') for the whole thing. However, since some people say it's just a temporary meme (despite how long ago that movie came out), I'll use the Chat or the Group. Or well, I'll try.

The Chat consists of various rich people living in Illéa. That's an artificial island (actually islands, but everyone says island since the main island is what really makes Illéa) one degree below the equator, east of Papua New Guinea and the Solomon Islands. Ish. Google it. It originated of a bunch of high school friends wanting to stay in contact but nowadays it includes more people, including people that aren't from said high school. I believe it has its origins at EFPA, Elizabeth Filler Preparatory Academy, which is THE primary school you want your kids to attend if you want to build up connections. And to succeed in Illéan society, you kinda need this. Standing out as the weird nerd kid isn't good, believe me.

Despite my obvious love for Vaelston, the first person to be mentioned here should be _Noah Schreave_. That guy's related to some huuuuuuuge real estate business here (and all over the world, my grandma in Britain dealt with them). _Here_ is his Instagram, and he's actually a pretty chill, down-to-earth dude who runs the surf club monopoly at the biggest beach in town. He's friends with, like, everyone and looks awfully similar to a K-Pop idol, but his mum's Chinese while his dad's side has been in Illéa for ages. He's like friends with every single person on the planet and you can actually go and meet him at his surf club, but they do have a security guard because apparently someone noticed that Juan sometimes comes by and went crazy mad fangirl. Straight, until recently dated Vienna van Well. Peacekeeper.

_Juan Santiago_ should tell everyone something; he's an a-list actor, academy award nominee at age 26 and Spanish-Illéan. He is part of the chat, even if you don't see him a lot around. I shouldn't have to say much more; if you really don't know who he is, remember that spy movie about birds not being real and pigeons spying on you? Yeah, that's him. Straight, had his girlfriends but doesn't show a lot about his social life. I've never been interested; he's just barely appeared in the background of my works. _Click for his Instagram._

_Gabby Santiago_ is Juan's younger sister. Besides being a deaf people rights' activist, she's also one of Illéa's top models (she regularly appears on Illéa's Next Top Model) and REALLY pretty. Rumour has it that she's going out with Simeon Adler, another model. More onto him in another post, because he's new and I don't know enough yet. Sorryyyyy. She's straight, I think? _Click for her Instagram and website._

_Miguel Santiago_ should also go onto the list, altho I'm not sure if he's actually part of the chat/active in it. He's Juan's older brother and a DJ, working at Vertigo (that's the biggest club here) and The Goldfinger (more onto that later, but it's a private club that's rumoured to be really cool). Does gigs elsewhere, but in my opinion the least successful out of the family. In a long term relationship with a fashion journalist, so he's never been interesting to me. _Instagram_.

Friends of Juan are Mariposa Cevallos and Angel Cassidy. Now, these two aren't that much of a standout, as Mariposa is a makeup artist (_website, Instagram_) who got into the group by being from an OK family (her dad's an opera singer, if you're into that) and probably by making hair stylist-like friendships. Angel Cassidy is a ballet dancer, definitely gay (his infamous relationship with Harry Guyer is FAKE I tell you!) and also a good friend, probably through his dad, Mister Luck. _Instagram_. Harry Guyer is a former ballet student-turned-model-and-influencer. Friends with Gabby & co. Really pretty, but her fans didn't take her relationship lightly (at first). _Instagram_.

Mariposa's your typical social butterfly. She does real good art, though, but she's still a more normal-person than most people are. There was a rumour she and Juan were dating, but I can assure you, it's false. They're just best friends. Angel Cassidy is your typical dad-type friend, and while yes, there was that whole huge scandal about him dating model and influencer Harry Guyer and them having a child together, but I think it's a ruse, because he's gay for Griff. The ballerina and the beast, amrite? Either way, his dad got super lucky, won the lottery and didn't go bankrupt but actually invested heaps and got even luckier, hence his nickname Mister Luck. As for Harry (it's a she, btw—I do often feel like the trans theory is true, though), again, her fans don't like Angel and the relationship. Most of them are guys, I guess. Straights, you know? I think there's more to their relationship, as I said. She's got a young boy.

Going on from there, other celebrities include YouTuber and social media influencer _Poppy Astor_. Her YouTube channel, GeekGirlTurnedGlam is a big one in lifestyle, fashion and what else. If you follow it, you'll need to deal with regular nerdy topics, but it's worth her other videos. I promise. She's really sweet and helpful, too, and I'm still not beyond thinking that Estelle Mun might be a side hustle. Not that she needs; she's build her brand and actually has released fashion and merchandise by now. _Instagram_, _YouTube_ and _website_. Comes from a large old European family, her dad used to be CEO or something at a big social media. I forgot which, sorryyyy.

Poppy is friends with _Percival "Perci" Santos_, who's the head of Grail Casinos, a casino chain from all over the world. He's a little shy, but flirty and knows what he wants if he gets around to it. He started out at EFPA, but moved to Britain for a long while. While he says he is straight, I don't quite believe that, and I think that he might just be the real villain around._ Instagram_.

Perci has two sisters, but his oldest isn't in the club. His sister _Marisol Santos_ is, though. She's twenty-five and a really cool girl. A little nerdy, but the cool type of nerd, you know? She's strong, has a great, charismatic personality and is fun to be around. Everyone loves her, but because everyone loves her so much, there are fights about being with her and so she stays away most of the time. Against what people claim, she has NOT been thrown out of the chat. _Instagram_.

Completing that friend group here would be _Nathaniel "Nate" Montgomery-Romilly_. Long name, short story. He's really picky on his privacy, but that guy's a fashion critic related to an international shipping ring. Kinda' withdrawn from all the society buzz, but occasionally around because he has a bunch of cool cousins. Tbh, I think he's hiding something because elsewise, his life'd be boring AF. His mum's on The Real Housewives of Illéa. Evanna Evangelina, in case you heard of her? _Instagram_.

Then there's what I dub the Beach Club, consisting of Noah and his two best friends (and kind of Vienna). One of them is _Kenna "Kenzie" Choi_. She's kinda shy and not around that much, but a hotel heiress (Choi Vacation International), descending from Korea. Like Noah (with whom some ship her, and I do get where you come from), she kinda looks like a K-pop idol. She always has new hair colours, a weird bike fetish but elsewise is pretty kind. Kinda has some depressed melancholy around her, like a sad, broken swan. Works in theatre, but nobody really knows where because that's commoner stuff. Has a boyfriend but he's dead._ Instagram_ which is kinda dead but she occasionally updates.

_Orianna Vasilieva_ is the daughter of a Russian business man (idk what he's doing, I don't even know the name) and a French socialite who descends from some French politician. She's not known for either though, but for her appearance. You know the human Barbie? That's her. She looks like one. That's where most about Noah/Kenzie/Ori comes from either way, since Noah and Kenzie don't really post a lot (about their private life, fish photos don't count, see my memes). She's an Instagram influencer (as in, she actually makes money from it!) and also loves the beach, so you can find her around Noah and Kenzie a lot. I think the bodyguard at the surf club was hired by her, cuz he's some scary Russian-type dude. I think she's often put up as a friend of Poppy or sometimes Rina (which often makes her like the evil right hand) because of her Instagram, but she's actually closer to Kenzie/Noah. Her sleepovers are LEGENDARY. _Instagram._

Now, I've namedropped them and of course, they deserve the real spotlight: Vaelston, aka Alex Langston and Griff Vael.

_Vienna van Well_ is a curious one, because she used to be part of the Beach Club, when she was Noah's girlfriend, but they broke up early November and I'm pretty sure she ran off to Europe to avoid them until fairly recently. Her dad's the prime minister, but she's from a pretty middle class family. Her dad runs on a liberal-conservative party. She's pretty and known for her natural beauty. Children's book author, philanthropist and socialite. Does stuff to support her dad's career, really. Really DOES NOT get along with Kenzie Choi, though (which is weird cuz she's Noah's BF) and I'm not sure if that's underlying sexual tension. Idc, I'm not into lesbian ships; the only thing I ever wrote involving them is _Cruises and Cruising_, although it's just minor (you can't write a fic set on a cruise ship without the vacation heiress, I guess). _Instagram_.

_Alex Langston_ is the heir to the media empire LaTV (not L-A-T-TV, but La like the French thing, I think? Idk, it's never said here, it's just TV) and also co-owner of the Goldfinger. He's in a complicated relationship with Griff Vael including suppressed homosexuality, toxic girlfriends, parents and what not, and really deserves more than his "slut, sleeps with everyone, arrogant and dramatic" image. You all are MISUNDERSTANDING him. He's no running gag, he is a deep, hurt character! _Instagram_

_Griff Vael_ is known to be the black sheep of technology leader Elysian Tech's family. I mean, yes, there have been some lawsuits regarding his violence and beating up people, but that's his family and anger relating to that. He's actually protective of the kind soul that Alex is. He's a good friend, but people are often frightened. Co-owner of the Goldfinger with Alex. _Instagram_

_Marina "Rina" Klydeworth_ is the antithesis of Vaelston. Known to be the female Alex Langston/bisexual devil, as well as on of Worthy Productions' upcoming talents, she isn't the beautiful confident woman you want to admire. She's a devil. She's out there to use Alex and to destroy these two soulmate's relationship! Do not trust her! She is pure evil! Look at her, she's forcing Alex to cheat in their relationship, even if he's unhappy with both! (cheating + relationship) _Instagram_

_Estelle Mun_, whom we all love and adore, is a little bit of a special case. She wants no connection with the chat, but I think that is because she IS a member of the chat. He knows Alex and Griff, and only after giving rise to Vaelston (for which she keeps apologising to, even if she shouldn't!) she stopped denying talking about them at all. I don't know who she is (I have my eyes on Poppy, but then again, I don't see why she's so secretive around her identity), but she is one of them!

I will write a larger profile, including tips to write them etc. later. This is a general intro. :) Look forward to that!

Now, in case you didn't notice, the most active members of chat can kind of be split into friend groups. You have Juan/Mariposa/Angel whom I dub the 'performing arts buddies' (Mariposa is make-up support, you know?), Gabby and Harry (and maybe Simeon?) who are the models, Orianna/Kenzie/Noah who are the surf buddies, Perci/Nate/Poppy (who knows another from school), Griff/Alex/Rina (the couple and the villain) and so on. Not all members are SUPER active, but yeah.

So, this is the chat! I'll make a post about relationships, tropes and what not. SOMEDAY, I PROMISE I will do my master list; I'm on the final chapter of Cruises and Cruising right now and I SWEAR the final is gonna be breathtaking (in multiple senses of the word). FYI you newbies, _Cruises and Cruising_ is a fic set on a holiday cruise, centring around Alex Langston who finally broke free of his terrifying ex-girlfriend Rina Klydeworth, and now finds sexual liberation in Griffin Vael, whose definition of 'cruising' isn't a yacht. [Vaelston, Vienzie, Langsworth].

I'll keep you guys updated as more happens! Look forward to my Rose Cotillion analysis coming up soon! (next one, I promise! There have been curious developments I need to add to it before I post it).

See you next time!

Merry Cap

Edit: omg shut up, this isn't 'controversial', it's the truth

* * *

**_Comments_**

**NoSanstonNoLife: **omg i hate to say this but you're 100% right with those descriptions are yo you don't know them girl because this is 100% canon. Can't wait for the CnC update, it's gonna be lit for sure! Going for Vienna x Kenzie was such a great choice, I can't believe I didn't know I needed them in my life! (ngl have to say tho I'm missing your sanston gold cap, please bless us with a sequel to Lusting for Lord Luck, it in my life

**whiteblueinyourcity: **hey cap i really like your fics and all but you maybe wanna clarify that they haven't actually said this or anything, you know?

**FirstMateJoy:** you are a goddess and i adore you - your #1 fan

**juansantiagofangirl123205xoxox: **this is weird? Juan would NEVER be around those kind of people. He's way to cool.

_Click to see more Comments_

* * *

**CONTENT WARNING ENDING**

* * *

**_Author's Note_**

**Did I open ff this morning, fully intending to post this chapter but then got distracted with other stuff and ended up closing it? Yes. Anyways, it's still Monday, and therefore, I am not late. Marisol's opinions are not mine. Thank you, Pocket, for helping me write parts of this intermission, your input was great. xx**

**Edit: 6/7 21:10 - forgot ff censors hearts, so edited that**


	15. Fast and Flirty

_**CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS**_

**XI**

_Fast and Flirty_

* * *

"You didn't sleep well," Cassia states. She is not wrong. Far from that; Maeve spent half of the night staring at the wall, and the other on the internet. Not even the most expensive beds allowed a good night's rest.

She laughs out dry. "Did you listen to _the Love Report_ yesterday?"

Cassia took a sip from her coffee. Maeve had invited her to meet up for lunch. "No—but I read the news. Do you know that woman?"

"No. She's a distant relative by marriage, I suppose, but that's generations ago."

Maeve already told Cassia about yesterday afternoon, and how the sleepless night led to her discovering that, quite literally, everyone she knows in Illéa until now (with an exception of Anna—she didn't even trust Noah's co-worker at this point. And any adults, she hopes) seems to be part of that chat.

"On the bright side," she adds, "it's not my name."

"But distant family."

Maeve shakes her head. "I don't think anyone considers the Schreaves and Lowells to be family at this point." She pauses. "I guess I'm glad that it's not my name out there again…"

Going by what she heard from her mother at work, and by what she found online, Samantha Lowell's affair is real. She has to wait for Daphne to hear more from Mary (yikes) who the two expected to be much more up-to-date on the situation.

"Understandable. I'd be, too." She looks too calm to understand.

"There's only been two cases and now people are making a game out of predicting the next."

Cassia frowns. "That's ridiculous."

"I know. Poppy Astor said that we shouldn't give then any attention, and honestly, I kind of agree. I just want to forget this all!" She groans.

"I'm glad that I'm not on the list of candidates…" the brunette says nonetheless.

"You're Maria Andersson's daughter." She had been a guest at the Rose Cotillion, too. Daphne knows her. She's part of society.

(But Cassia probably doesn't have any exposing secrets.)

"But without any contact," she reminds her. "I'm avoiding it on purpose. This is more of a holiday than 'reunite with mum'…"

Maeve shrugs. "You literally studied medicine. In Spain. In your second language. Take a break, girl. Even I didn't study in a foreign language, and languages are literally my only hobby."

"I—it's not that big of a thing. I lived there before," Cassia insists with a blush.

"Don't you think it strange? Go from 'hey this girl's back in town' to 'she's cheating on her husband'?" Maeve asks. "I'd like to think, it's not a scandal for me to be back home."

"True—but the first time is the biggest shocker, isn't it? People thought you had your hands in it, as you said. To make a grand entrance."

She's got a point. "But the only connection between Samantha and me is that we are part of families that have someone that—generations ago!—married into the Illéa family."

"Personal vendetta?" Cassia suggests. She shakes her head. "No. That doesn't make sense. They'd target the Illéas."

"There aren't any Illéas left besides people that married into other families and live in Europe, and who knows, maybe some relatives of that dude that ran away."

"Tshat feels like awfully much work for revenge, though. Trace down a family tree that much? What happened to that dude that ran away?"

Maeve shrugs. She's no expert in the Illéa family tree. "Didn't agree with Gregory's plans or something. Thought he could make a point by running away. Didn't. His younger brother became Gregory's heir, and his sister got a trust fund. He got nothing."

"Maybe he wants his fortune back?"

Maeve cringes. "That was ages ago—when Illéa was being build. I doubt he's alive. Plus, the Illéa fortune is pretty much gone. Inflation and recklessness destroyed it."

"Your family didn't inherit it?"

"My grandma got what was left, but most of my family's fortune was built back up by her. There's no way some Illéa descendant could claim that—even if it was."

(Little did she know.)

"Blackmail?"

"We have a literal army of lawyers. That'd be stupid. That's what the Lowells might do, if they decide to pretend that the affair isn't a thing. Sue for defamation."

"Then I don't know," Cassia ends.

"Nobody does." She sighs. "Whatever. It's not my name. I don't care. The police will take care of it. How's your life going?"

"I spent a week on the beach, avoiding the fact that my mother wants to meet me?" She sighs. "I'm trying to find a good excuse on what else to do. I could be at home, helping with everything but now I'm here, doing nothing."

"Why not go to your mum?"

Cassia sighs. "I don't really want to, honestly. I thought my feelings might change once I come here, but they've clearly not. But I don't want to go back, you know? I thought I might do some charity work, while I'm here."

"I don't know how medicine works," Maeve suggests, "but do that? Work as a doctor?"

"Nah…" she leans back. "It's been a while since I took a break from that. And residency is so much work… How about you?"

(Evidently, she doesn't want to.)

"I mean, everyone probably still hates me _and_ is in Noah's little chat. Yesterday wasn't too bad. It was fun. They made an effort not to talk about it." She pauses. She still has Estelle's advice. "So, I was thinking—if I befriend with everyone in the chat but Noah, then maybe I can still get in, without him. Or convert them, if it has to be. I just don't know how."

"You know," Cassia remembers, "I used to be friends with Noah—and also with Griffin Vael. Do you know him?" Yes, she does. He's still scary. "I could try to get into the chat. I find it a bit strange, you know? You said that Sia is always busy with university and that it seems like she hasn't really been around the chat, yet she is in? You're childhood friends with Nate and Perci, and went to the same school as more members—EFPA. I remember Noah to be kind, but it feels a bit illogical."

"Yeah."

"I could text him, and be like 'hi, long time no see'. I do want to catch up, yes, but from what you've said, it feels like Noah has changed since I last knew him." She pauses.

"I'd be using you a spy." That makes even Gemma feel guilty.

"I'd get to meet old friends again, and help a new one." Cassia smiles. "Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. It'll be fine."

"Do you think so?" She can't really believe that.

"Yes."

Cassia moves to message Maeve's cousin. She watches in silence—he's not online, Cassia tells her. If this doesn't work, though, she'll need to make amends with Noah. Get along with Mr Everyone-loves-me. Pretend to be friends with him. As I she'd like him too. She shudders. _What a strange idea._

"I was thinking—since everyone thinks I caused a 'scene' at his birthday party—" She doesn't say that without rolling her eyes. "—I could host a party myself? I don't know how though! I'd just look weird if I made it for Noah, and if not, it's just a party… My birthday isn't until much later next year."

"If you just want to befriend with people and show that you don't cause scenes, just invite them to hang out? If you want a good cause—fundraisers? It could even go to his club. That'd look like you think he needs money though…"

"Inviting people sounds like fun!" Maeve beams. A great opportunity to use Sia and Gabby to get to their brothers too! She can work on her boyfriend debacle! "I could ask Sia, Gabby and you to come to my place this evening. Mum's out with friends either way, so we have the whole place for us—yes, I live with my mum."

Cassia's smile is only half-hearted. "Why not? I'm happy to come."

* * *

Sia can't come. She has work relating to her internship. The evening's starting out great. Maeve, being the great planner she is, doesn't waste time considering what they can do without excluding Gabby. Movies could work (subtitles) but that wouldn't help her with getting closer to Gabby and somehow getting herself invited to her place to meet Juan again.

She only realises that at point five o'clock, when she takes her leave. Fortunately, there's no late night work tonight. Maybe Anna organised that on purpose—because of yesterday—but maybe she didn't and it's a coincidence. Gemma Maeve Schreave doesn't care.

Cassia and Gabby arrive around the same time. Either Cassia googled Gabby, or she's known her before—or, of course, she figured it out on her own. They talk through Cassia's phone when they arrive in the Schreave's penthouse.

(Of course, Maeve has forgotten to look up sign language.)

"Hey you two!" she beams, and then awkwardly waves at Gabby. At least she's kind enough not to be awkward. Gabby's a darling. "How was your day?" she adds on, also on a phone so Gabby can read it.

_Awesome! Went to a charity event for disabled kids! Also, I can read lips, Maeve, don't worry that much! __J_

"Do you?" Maeve asks.

_Yes, but I'm not the best. It'll be fine! __J__ worst case, I can always ask_

Cassia smiles. "True. What are we going to do? Any ideas?"

"We could play a game," Maeve says, making sure to speak slow so Gabby can keep up. "We have a few board games—how about Monopoly, or something?"

"Sure—if Gabby is cool with it?" She nods—so everything seems to be fine.

Maeve used to play board games all the time with her parents, and they still have a sizable collection. Her personal favourite has always been Monopoly—she doesn't get why people hate the game so much—and they've got more than one edition of it. She chooses the Illéa version.

They hand out money and game pieces, and roll a dice to determine who will start. Maeve, of course, gets two ones, while Gabby gets a total of five and Cassia gets two sixes. Good old luck, huh? Cassia starts, but to Maeve's fortune chooses not to buy any roads. Gabby follows, buys a blue road, and then it's her turn.

Maeve rolls two threes—and buys the blue property she lands on. She rolls again—two fours—and buys the next property.

"You a re going to lose all your money before we finish the first round!" Cassia reminds her.

"It'll be fine," Maeve grins. She rolls again—two sixes.

Gabby hands Maeve her phone. _Prison for you :P_

That doesn't matter, because she's already gotten two properties and Cassia might land on one of them. Cassia rolls—lands on the second station, University Station—and after a moment of hesitation buys it. Gabby moves on without action.

Maeve has to make a decision: pay and get out of jail, or let them go ahead. She knows that she has far from any monopoly in the game yet, and even if being in prison means that the money goes to the banks, it goes somewhere else than her fellow player's pocket and _that's_ the goal. Right now, she needs to acquire more properties.

"I'll pay to get out of prison," she announces, and makes her roll to move on (and buy the next property).

The rounds go on a little bit, and as they play and (or so Cassia and Gabby believe) randomly acquire properties, Maeve begins sketching a little plan. To avoid Gabby or Cassia reading it, she writes the numbers down in Korean.

(Hey, she gets to practise!)

She does the math because it's been a while since she last played the game with anyone. She compares rent and price with another, and remembers that somewhere, she heard that three houses makes most sense.

It gets interesting when she offers Cassia to trade two (different) expensive properties on side three and four for her station. Cassia might be clever enough to do medicine, but she only catches that something's off.

"You'd lose money."

"You're free to give me money," Maeve teases. "No, I just have this thing with my mum that we try to get the stations before anything else. Tradition," she lies.

Cassia shrugs it off and makes the deal. Over the time, Maeve acquires more (and the orange and pink streets, too) by kindly trading off streets. It's even better when Gabby comes to her for a blue one, and she can get the pink one in return.

When they get into the late game, her investment turns out very good. Orange and pink are closest to the jail, and the jail is more than one-in-thirty-six-times likely, thanks to the game's rules. That and her stations allow a continuous revenue flow—and of course, Maeve holds a few cards hostage to prevent Cassia from completing the red streets. Finally, Gabby and Cassia both having the yellow and green cards (and the obvious intention to complete them) means that they stall another.

Maeve soon forces Gabby to mortgage blue when she once again lands on the prison, gets out and then ends up on the orange field.

"You're good!" Cassia remarks surprised when ending on her streets once more.

Maeve smiles (not willing to reveal her strategy). "Just luck."

It takes a few more rounds of waiting in jail, Gabby finally getting her green street and a bunch of bad rolls for Cassia to lose.

_Too bad __L__, _Gabby writes. Her budget is less than Maeve's too.

By the time they finish the game and Maeve stores it, the room has filled with orange, gentle light. Her stomach rumbles.

"Do we want to get something to eat?" Maeve asks, while writing it down for Gabby too. "eWe could get takeaway, or order something. Or make something, I suppose." She likes cooking, but she can't know if Cassia and Gabby do.

"Sure!" Cassia says.

_ We can go to my place, if you want? My family always wants us to bring friends and we always have too much food! __J_

(Oh, fate is smiling upon Maeve.)

"That'd be awesome. How did you two get here? I can drive us—and I can drop Cassia later."

_My brother drove me. Please drive :D_

"Public transport," Cassia laughs. "I still need to get myself a car. So, yes, please drive."

Maeve leads them down to the garage where Gabby comments that she is 'almost as bad as Juan'. There's certainly a smile on her face. Maeve really wants to drive her Ferrari Sergio Pininfarina (one that she once bought for three million from an European collector—a long story involving a trip to Europe and the hope to get her dad back into her life, ridiculous now that she looks back) but that one only has two seats, she goes for the Porsche 911. Julian once bought it, but then realised he first needed to build a new garage. By the time, it was build, he wasn't interested anymore and gave it to his handicapped former sister-in-law. She doesn't have many cars with more than two seats (but really, why would you buy a car as a transport medium for the whole family).

"Do you like cars?" Cassia laughs.

"Yes—and no. My dad used to buy them all the time," Maeve explains while driving out of the garage. "I got a bunch over the years too—the Bugatti from last weekend is one of them—but we used to have way more. Older ones—like, a decade old—but mum sold them with my uncle's help. Donated the money to charities or kept it. She didn't see a reason to keep them, with me abroad."

(Unknown to her, Gabby texts someone.)

The address that Gabby gives her is a beach house, not that far away from the Illéa Palace. Most people live here (read: rich people), but Daphne Daulton-Schreave likes the closeness to work. Car rides are always an annoyance, she keeps saying.

(Maybe Maeve should move out.)

Gabby and Cassia sit in the back, so Gabby can hand Cassia her phone and Maeve doesn't need to read while driving, and Gabby explains that usually her brothers live in a penthouse in the city, but she thinks that they'll be home tonight, at the insistence of their mother.

Bingo.

Juan's (and Gabby's) parents are happy to have them join the family for dinner. Maeve vaguely recognises them from older movies and remembers that, yes, of course, Juan's parents were movie actors as well, before settling down. She occasionally sees his father, too, but not as much as Juan. Their older brother, Miguel, introduces himself as DJ.

"Nice to meet you," Maeve beams.

"Hi there," Miguel says. By his side is a young woman—soon introduced as Alina Jefferson, Miguel's girlfriend. For a moment, Maeve is worried—but Miguel is around thirty and a little too old for her. She needs no sugar daddy.

Juan is there too (lucky Maeve) and the instant Gabby notices him, she signs something to him. He laughs. "You're what?" he asks, directing the words at Maeve.

She looks up. "Huh? What?"

"Gabby says you're a car fanatic?" Juan asks. "Show me."

"Not a fanatic," Maeve, of course, insists. "I just got given a few from my father and I added one or two to the collection. Happy to show you, though. You too?"

Juan laughs. "Gabby keeps saying that my garage is a waste of space. But sure."

"Is here? She said you live Sonage."

"I do, but that place is full of wanna-be celebrities. Most of them are here; I only have seven in Sonage."

"Only seven," Maeve laughs, "I see."

Juan guides her to the underground garage, noting on how only three of them do not belong to him. 'Them' being a myriad of cars, most black as the night, that patiently wait for Juan. Maeve's heels echo in the garage.

"This is—large?"

"I've been thinking about expanding," Juan admits, "but my father doesn't want any work going on here. They prefer their peace, you know? So I looked into garage spots, but there isn't anything of standard in Illéa. We really do have a space problem."

Maeve knows. That's why Julian had them store some of his cars at their place. "At least the government is finally funding building new islands."

"That'll take years, though," Juan complains. "I did buy land, though."

"Didn't we all," Maeve laughs. "Tell me about the cars. You do have a few black ones."

"Black is always the right colour."

Maeve could disagree, but she could also not. "What's your favourite?"

Juan stops. There's merely an ominous dropping of water echoing, but that's inevitable if you dig into an artificial island.

"La Voiture Noire," Juan decides, and points to one of many cars. Another Bugatti, a good choice, Maeve thinks.

"I heard it was bought by an anonymous buyer," she says. "You must have only gotten it recently. They were touring it around, weren't they?" She laughs. Ridiculous! It was already sold! A media stunt, obviously.

Juan nods with a proud grin. "I _finally_ did—I am glad I got the deal."

"You paid before it was even build," Maeve remembers amused. Such random things, yet she understands. Shopping is the best therapy—even if it's car shopping! She followed the car's creation a little bit—though, this she knew from the magazines she occasionally read. "How many millions, again?"

"Eighteen."

"I see," Maeve replies. She slides her hand over the cold motor of the black beast. It's rather low, compared to other cars she has driven, but that isn't what makes her smile fade. Eighteen million. Goodness, how many of the kids she taught last year could use that money for better living conditions? For the rent alone.

(It's frivolous, and even Maeve realizes that.)

"What's your favorite car?" Juan asks.

"Here?" Maeve asks, and skims around in the room. She strolls past them all, taking closer looks at a few. "This one."

"The Tesla?" Juan asks. "That one's old. It only drives up to 225 kilometers per hour."

"It feels pretty."

Juan laughs. "Let me show you really pretty cars, then. Come along."

He shows her to the end of the rows of cars, towards two in particular. One of them is red, with oversized spotlights and an odd-shape that almost reminds Maeve from the Cars movie. It's got character. The 'dumb little cutie' type of character.

"Oh my goodness, it's _adorable_!" she exclaims.

"Alfa Romeo Tipo 33," Juan elaborates. "And I thought you'd say that. It's always this one—or the old pink car. Ori really likes that one, but she's been at the beach so much, she's never got time for a race…"

Maeve rolls her eyes. "And the other?"

Juan moves her along to an Aston Martin DB5. "That one's from James Bond!"

"It's an original used in the production. They're using a replica in the next movie, and I got my hands on this on. This and the red one are the only cars not in black I have." This one's champagne colored.

"You're really playing the Illéan James Bond up, don't you?"

"When I got the cast for the pigeon movie, yes. I didn't expect it to turn into a pigeon joke."

"It's unfortunate," Maeve teases. "You always can try to be Bond later on."

"Bond actors are always so old, though," Juan complains amused. "Wanna go for a ride?"

"And pretend to be a bond girl? Sure," she laughs.

(Suddenly, prospects seem possible.)

* * *

Of course, that little dreamy afternoon can't last forever and poor Maeve has to return home eventually. However, she doesn't do that without inviting Juan to come over the following day, to introduce him to her little car collection. Less impressive than his, sure, but it's a reason to invite him over once more.

(She does extend said invitation to Cassia (who knows to deny) and Gabby (who happens to have a photoshoot.)

When Juan Santiago, A-list actor and crush of thousands of teenage hearts arrives at her doorstep, Maeve makes sure to look her part too. Daphne chuckles at her morning efforts in front of the mirror, but that doesn't matter to Maeve. She's got an (unofficial) date! Even if it's already late afternoon.

"Welcome to my humble home," she greets Juan, leaning into the doorframe in a desperate attempt to look cool. (It doesn't work.)

"Glad to be invited—though, I doubt you're storing cars in a penthouse."

Maeve laughs. "A friend of mine has a car elevator. Just you drive in, hold for a moment and it drives you straight into your living room."

Juan curls his lip. "But then you'd need to always exchange the car. That doesn't sound practical to me…" He shakes his head, and his hands wander back into his pockets.

"I agree," Maeve throws in. She's never thought of that, but does it matter? "Let's go down, then."

The elevator here works through calling and residence control, or through cards. Maeve has hers on her (this time; she used to forget it all the time) but that's not needed if your apartment has an express elevator privately owned. Daphne likes not to wait. Maeve likes the idea of it.

Compared to Juan, her own garage if two things: smaller and without the scary echo. It's newer (the central business district went through a large overhaul before she was born; Angeles mansions tend to be passed down because of how expensive they are—sucks to be poor), and a renovation added acoustics that drown those creepy echoes.

Also, glowing lights in the floor. Useful if you need to find a certain car. Smart homes.

Juan notices it. Great. "Your garage is much more modern than mine. Where'd you get it renovated?"

"That was my uncle when he stored some of his cars here."

"Isn't he more retro?"

"He has a few modern ones. Few, but they exist," she assures. "Wanna take a ride?"

(She suggests it before remembering—Juan probably her the same cars, in black.)

"I know a cool spot to do racing. You interested?"

Maeve laughs. "Not so sure if my cars are in for racing, but sure."

"They do borrow cars, if you're so worried about it. I'm a good driver, though."

"That's what they all say," she teases. "Let's go and try out your racing track."

Maeve makes a point of driving herself, though predominantly to have an excuse to let Juan drive first once they reach the racing track. It takes a while to get to Illéa's harbour, and from there, they take a ferry (one that allows cars; Juan has to call someone though) to one of the smaller islands surrounding Illéa. Maeve quickly gasp that just like Dominica, this is a privately owned island.

What many people have as golf resorts, Illéa has as a private racing tracks.

"I think my uncle and my dad used to come here," Maeve remembers. "Do you come here a lot?"

"Not a lot-a lot," Juan replies. "It gets boring if you go alone, and my friends are either not invested enough into racing, or work when the track's open."

"You can invite me along," Maeve brings up, "I'm happy to come along, if I have time."

Juan grins as he drives the car from the ferry onto asphalted road. The racing track is a little off the land. Unlike Illéa's largest island, this one isn't utterly surrounded by fine white beach. There's a golf course, too, she thinks. If her memories don't lie.

(That's possible though. It's been ages since she's been here.)

"Have you been here with your dad?" Juan asks. By the way he talks about Christian Schreave, Maeve guesses he doesn't know what happened. Or he doesn't bother. He's an actor. Probably second generation rich. Not the type to care about these stories.

"Ages ago. They've changed things, I think. There used to be a little restaurant."

"Oh, yeah, they shut it down. Anyone who comes here can also quickly get back to Illéa, and there's better food over there." He says that as if Illéa isn't only ten minutes ferry away and the city's towering skyscrapers hover behind them.

"The track going strong though?"

Juan nods, and between his directions says, "Yeah. You have an exclusive golf club and a racing track, including cars free for you to demolish. Bit of an insurance thing, but I don't go _that_ hard."

"Demolish?" Maeve repeats. "What?"

"Some people like to take the curves too hard. There's been cases of crashes. There are some timeframes for each racing class. They've got some Formula One-type cars, that's when people with no idea of how to drive crash into the ocean. It's the type you'd expect to buy a star and brag about it. It's a waste of money, and not even real bragging rights."

Real bragging rights are things like La Voiture Noire.

"We're not doing that, aren't we?" Maeve clings onto the wheel of her little darling car that she does _not_ want demolished.

"Nah, today's just for normal cars without a speed limit."

Maeve lets go. "Like on German highways? I can do that."

Juan laughs. "Like that, yes. You should try the real racing, though. It's fun."

"I think, I prefer racing. Here?" She points towards a little house, surrounded by a noticeable garage and a few—not more than ten—parking spots. She's seen some on the way, too, but going by the looks of the cars, they have to be for the golfers.

"Yup. Let's go, grab a car."

(She'Ts still onto the plan of letting Juan drive.)

The clerk there, reading a newspaper with feet on the desk, greets Juan like an old friend. "Hey, bud! Here for the day?"

Maeve clutches her bag when Juan says, "Yeah. Am here with a friend. She's worried about her car. Can we grab one from here?"

The clerk laughs, but Maeve pulls a frown. _No need to expose me like that!_ Not that she says anything, of course. Can't risk befriending (and more!) with Juan Santiago. The clerk throws a key chain to Juan. "It's a good day. Weather forecast said rain, but it doesn't look that at all. Track's free."

Given the exclusivity of, you know, renting a spot on a racing track with the price tags Maeve finds on the office's window, she doubts that it's ever crowded. Illéa might be doing well enough financially, but this is one place where she expects to meet other rich kids only.

Juan shows her the way to the garage. He doesn't even bother taking a look at the new (unreleased, Maeve notices) models but straight heads for a silver ride. It's flat, and—with Maeve's limited knowledge of aerodynamics—looks fast. Slim. Sleek.

"This one?" she asks, with a total lack of enthusiasm.

Juan's amused. He laughs. Douchebag, she thinks. "Afraid? We're not going _that_ fast."

"I don't fancy a swim today," Maeve shoots back, but to prove a point (she's not scared of fast cars!) she enters the car. Fortunately, the car's not from Britain. Not that it's a problem—if nothing else, Maeve's frequent travelling has made her adept at various street rules—but she's still glad to not find a steering wheel in front of her. Juan drops into the car, adjusts the back mirror like a pro, and pulls the door close—careful not to slam it.

"Ready?" he asks with a boyish grin.

"I have the feeling, I have no other choice," Maeve jokes tense. She grinds her teeth. "When are we—oh!"

Juan turns the key and with _far too much_ thrust races out of the garage. Maeve digs her nails into the fine leather. The thrust pushes her into the seat. That confident smile on Juan's face, though, looks like it's straight from a movie.

Well, he _is_ an actor.

(Still, Maeve regrets living on an island.)

He makes his way out of the garage, onto the asphalt, and once they aren't in immediate vicinity of thick concrete walls, she relaxes and looks out of the window. This is a two-seater. "A warning would've been nice."

"It's just like a rollercoaster," Juan defends. He's right—but Maeve knows when a roller coaster starts.

"Remind me to kidnap and blindfold you onto a rollercoaster, when I've got the time."

"Will do." And he once more accelerates. This time, Maeve's prepared, and despite being thrusted into the seat, she doesn't yelp out. The car rushes past the few trees covering the view to the rocky beach and the water, until they reach the track.

There're no pretty trees here, although that's somewhat understandable. The track—a large, apparent oval, has a grass bridge over it, leading to a hill with what seems to be a pick nick area. For the golfers, Maeve assumes. Golf needs space, doesn't it?

"What's that island?" she asks Juan before he can race onto the track.

"For everyone who's not into racing or golf, but ends up here," Juan replies. "I used to put Gabby there, when my parents wanted me to take her out. That is, until she insisted to come along. Guess being deaf makes the motor noises no issue."

Maeve nods. "The bridge comes from the golf part, then?"

"Yeah. It's really annoying. I've heard of golf balls almost hitting cars. At these speeds…"

"There isn't much other space to put a golf course. You could stack it? That'd be an interesting business idea."

"You're the real estate girl. Surely, you can build that?"

"That's not really what real estate I about," titters Maeve. "Perci might help? His dad's in construction. Getting land seems like the easy part here. You'd need to design this, wouldn't you?"

Juan starts driving, but thankfully doesn't go above one-hundred-fifty just yet. "This sounds like a difficult think to do—architecture wise. I don't play golf, but don't these balls fly high?" He accelerates.

"Hmm…" Maeve frowns. "I don't know, I don't play it either."

"We should play a game to test it. I don't know though—wouldn't you say that some wide, grassy and empty course is a bit of the appeal of golf?" Juan wonders. "I suppose that adding some winds and all could make it interesting, but I doubt old people would like that."

"True," Maeve thinks. Juan's still accelerating, though now it's fun. He's getting past 200. She smiles. "This sounds like one of these fun play halls for kids, if you say it like that."

The tires squeak as the car turns around the track. Maeve pushes the window down, to put her hand out. The air pushes against her hand and flows past her fingers. The cold flushes her face.

"Careful, that can be dangerous," Juan warns unbothered.

"It'll be fine." She pulls her hand in a few moments later.

Juan does a few more circles before Maeve insists on her own turn. Of course, now that she's adjust to the speed, she immediately goes full throttle and races around the curve, nearly losing control. It takes a moment to adjust.

They stop after growing bored of the speed. The adrenaline only goes so far, doesn't it?

"Wanna test the golf thesis?" Juan suggests after returning the silver speeder. "We might catch a bunch of players."

"Market research aside," Maeve wonders despite following him to the golf field, "I wonder if the real issue here is construction and maintenance cost."

Juan pulls out his sunglasses. Good idea, looks cool—Maeve follows the motion. "Aren't golf courses super expensive to maintain, because everything has to be perfectly cut and watered? I think Noah once ranted about how bad for the environment it is…"

Despite flinching at her cousin's name, Maeve nods. "I suppose, if you build something that allows you to regulate things, it's good. Plus, you can add some natural trees and what not for a nice environment image. Existing gold courses can be remodelled for—"

"More racing tracks."

"—parks. Or that, I guess. Look, there's some wild golfers. Let's ask them." She points towards an elderly couple, of which the woman is just now taking a swing. The ball flies high. Too high. "Is that the norm?" she asks, unimpressed.

"In terms of golfing?" Juan shrugs. "Looks like it? I wouldn't know."

"That's high. That's expensive to build. Stacking two onto another might be possible, but more? I doubt golfing is popular enough here to get a good return."

"No golfing business, then?" Juan jokes and turns around.

"Maybe use that idea for something else," she adds. "How about we grab something to eat in the harbour?"

The sun is once more setting above the skyscraper silhouette of the brimming city Illéa. There are boats, barely more than a black shadow, and the lights glowing in the skyscrapers. Streets brighten up, one by one, as Juan slowly steers her car onto the ferry. Despite the beautiful image in front of her, Maeve doesn't smile though.

Today's been fun, but today is nearly over. Even if she gets Juan to hang out for some coffee.

She'll need to plan things better, and that's gonna be difficult—especially with side hustle 'befriend with the mysterious chat' going on. Sure—she can invite Juan over to drive again, but they won't do circles for a whole day, talking. That's no date.

She bites on her lip. Gemma Maeve Schreave has a lot of work to do.

(At least Juan, later on, invites her to an upcoming party at his family's house.)

* * *

**_Author's Note_**

**Ending image is a courtesy to Wondy who dared us to use the image she took in our stories. (And my love for any sort of sky/sunset imagery). Sorry for the lack of updates, but uni/work is literally eating up any time I have; writing feels kind of weird now. If anyone got tips for getting back into writing after extended breaks, let me know.**


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